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(cont. 2/2)
When the wolf came knocking at his door, Peter, like the pig in the children’s story, would have been protected in his solid brick house.
Instead, for decades his mother had told him he was lazy, stupid, and unable to cope in life. There were no solid bricks in his foundation; he lived in a house of straw.

If Peter’s mother had been a healthier woman, she would have told him he was sensitive, kind, intuitive, bright, and musically gifted. Praising those positive attributes would have helped Peter form a stronger foundation.

(cont. 1/2)

So I told her to do two things. First, to fake it till she made it. I reminded her that she was from a dysfunctional home and that normal behaviour felt awkward and stilted. But if she just kept doing it, with time it would feel more normal. Second, I told her that every time she felt angry she should remember that anger is a defence, not a feeling, and to analyze what feeling the anger was covering.

Patients who are rarely praised as children often distrust the positive things people say about them as adults. A child’s concept of self is formed in childhood and it takes a long time, with many affirmative examples, to turn that self-concept around.

She was too busy wishing
on shooting stars
to see the dreams
come true around her.

Watch carefully
the magic that occurs
when you give a person
enough comfort
to just be themselves.

It took me a long time to realize
that I am happiest
not at the parties
or the dinners
or the shows
but at home with you
and just our books
our movies
and our tea.
And wherever we go
for now and forever
we will bring this happy with us
for home lives
inside us now
wherever
together

(cont..)

you are coming back to me now, my love,
lucid in this darkness—
so cry aloud,
yell,
and fall,
and I will be here waiting
to catch you
when the waking up is done.

My sweet darling,
all these tears,
this hurt,
the pain in your heart,
do not fight it anymore,
it is a gift, you see, to feel this much
and even though it’s hard
it means you’re alive
with each of these tearful breaths gasped
your soul awakens,
more alive in the pain
than you were in the numb,

(cont..)

Love is
throwing yourself into a stormy sea
hoping there are arms to catch you
knowing that without the leap
there is only the safe
and lonely shore.

(cont..3)
The spotted hawk swoops by and accuses me .... he complains of my gab and my loitering.

I too am not a bit tamed .... I too am untranslatable, I sound my barbaric yawp over the roofs of the world.

(cont..2)
I concentrate toward them that are nigh .... I wait on the door-slab.

Who has done his day’s work and will soonest be through with his supper? Who wishes to walk with me?

Will you speak before I am gone? Will you prove already too late?

“Listener up there! Here you .... what have you to confide to me?
Look in my face while I snuff the sidle of evening,
Talk honestly, for no one else hears you, and I stay only a
minute
longer.

Do I contradict myself?
Very well then .... I contradict myself;
I am large .... I contain multitudes.

(cont..)

“And I call to mankind, Be not curious about God,
For I who am curious about each am not curious about God,
No array of terms can say how much I am at peace about God
and about death.

I hear and behold God in every object, yet I understand
God not
in the least,
Nor do I understand who there can be more wonderful than myself.”

“I exist as I am, that is enough,
If no other in the world be aware I sit content,
And if each and all be aware I sit content.”

“In all people I see myself, none more and not one a
barleycorn
less,
And the good or bad I say of myself I say of them.”

“I am not an earth nor an adjunct of an earth,
I am the mate and companion of people, all just as immortal and
fathomless as myself;
They do not know how immortal, but I know.”

“Loafe with me on the grass.... loose the stop from your throat,
Not words, not music or rhyme I want.... not custom or lecture,
not even the best,
Only the lull I like, the hum of your valved voice.”

Excerpt From
Leaves of Grass
Walt Whitman

I know I cried that night, bitter youthful tears that could not come from me today.
That kind of crying, deep into a pillow, does not happen after we are twenty-one. The throbbing head, the swollen eyes, the tight, contracted throat.

Books That Blew My Mind Like When You Make Two Holes in Either End of an Egg to Blow All the Insides Out of It

LOL

“It’s hard for me to relax and trust. But when I meet another heart and we are both being charged from the same source, we see each other and together we know it’s a sad and beautiful world. We are in awe and I overflow with feeling.”

“He continued as he lit up a cigarette, “But dude, you’re missing out on the best part. After the delicious burrito and the spliff [...] the incredible Marlboro to wrap it up [...]!” I was like, “Really? They’re that good? Gimme one of them fuckin things.” I started smoking that day, kept it up for fifteen years or so. Damnit, I wish they were good for ya ’cause I loved ’em. Unfortunately they make you sick and die.”

A band needs to be more than good at playing music. It needs to tap a source, to awaken a feeling that lies dormant in the people, a freedom and beauty that is normally eclipsed by the shadows of everyday life, a feeling we didn't even know we had.
Anyone can learn to play an instrument well, but the spirits need to step in.

He'd climbed over the fence into my backyard when he heard the music. He told us his name was Saul, he was a guitar player, and had a band called L.A. Rocks, or something like that. We chatted for a while, he was an intense and spirited kid, I liked him. Years later, when he was the top-hatted iconic figure of the biggest rock band on earth it always warmed my heart to see him doing his thing.

One day we had band practice in my sister's bedroom, and a strange head popped up in the window, peeping in to watch us play. It was a kid from down the block I'd seen cruising around the neighborhood, a tough cool-looking longhair.

Anthony and I sat next to each other and began a conversation that continues forty-odd years later.

At graduation, I was bequeathed the Herbert Solomon Award, a plaque bequeathed to the most improved student. I also won the award for best musician, which went on an immortal plaque.
Wasn't that immortal 'cause years later I went back to see it and no one had even heard of it.

It’s a special kind of pain when a friend betrays you, but never actually a surprise. If you’re paying attention, they let you know long before they do it.

" Couldn't concentrate in class. I was occasionally motivated to succeed by a fleeting interest in the ego boost of a good report card, but always ended up spacing out in the stream of meandering thoughts or playing class clown. I loved to read, but the books they gave me were wack. "

The more I read, the more I'm convinced Flea & I are kindred spirits. Love this crazy dude.

When I see professional athletes talk about how much they love their moms after a big win, I often tear up. Partly because a raw and vulnerable display of love is just a poignant thing, but also, part of me realizes I missed out on something.