life: acoustic & amplified

poetry, quotes & thoughts about life

Archive for the category “time”

It couldn’t Be Done

Somebody said that it couldn’t be done,

But, he with a chuckle replied

That “maybe it couldn’t,” but he would be one

Who wouldn’t say so till he’d tried.

So he buckled right in with the trace of a grin

On his face. If he worried he hid it.

He started to sing as he tackled the thing

That couldn’t be done, and he did it.

 

Somebody scoffed: “Oh, you’ll never do that;

At least no one has done it”;

But he took off his coat and he took off his hat,

And the first thing we knew he’d begun it.

With a lift of his chin and a bit of a grin,

Without any doubting or quiddit,

He started to sing as he tackled the thing

That couldn’t be done, and he did it.

 

There are thousands to tell you it cannot be done,

There are thousands to prophesy failure;

There are thousands to point out to you one by one,

The dangers that wait to assail you.

But just buckle it in with a bit of a grin,

Just take off your coat and go to it;

Just start to sing as you tackle the thing

That “couldn’t be done,” and you’ll do it.

 

– Edgar Albert Guest

from the very last section of the Course in Miracles – dictated to Helen

And now in all your doings be you blessed.

God turns to you for help to save the world.

Teacher of God, His thanks He offers you,

And all the world stands silent in the grace

You bring from Him. You are the Son He loves,

And it is given you to be the means

Through which His Voice is heard around the world,

To close all things of time; to end the sight

Of all things visible; and to undo

All things that change. Through you is ushered in

A world unseen, unheard, yet truly there.

Holy are you, and in your light the world

Reflects your holiness, for you are not

Alone and friendless. I give thanks for you,

And join your efforts on behalf of God,

Knowing they are on my behalf as well,

And for all those who walk to God with me.

AMEN

Thoughts about Time

First: Nobody can manage time. But you can manage those things that take up your time.

Second: Time is expensive. As a matter of fact, 80 percent of our day is spent on those
things or those people that only bring us two percent of our results.

Third: Time is perishable. It cannot be saved for later use.

Fourth: Time is measurable. Everybody has the same amount of time…pauper or king. It is not how much time you have; it is how much you use.

Fifth: Time is irreplaceable. We never make back time once it is gone.

Sixth: Time is a priority. You have enough time for anything in the world, so long as it ranks high enough among your priorities.

excerpt from, First Thing Every Morning by Lewis Timberlake.

Simple Truths – http://www.simpletruths.com/?cm_mmc=CheetahMail-_-TH-_-05.26.11-_-FTEM&utm_source=CheetahMail&utm_medium=05.26.11&utm_campaign=FTEM

The Highest Goal of Any Art

Is so simple, despite thoughts to the contrary.

I was reading through some old content on this site recently – posts, quotes and postcards. In all honestly, I was dumbfounded. A lot of it just didn’t make sense to me. “What did I mean by that?”, I kept asking myself. And I started to get dejected because I just couldn’t reconnect to the emotions that inspired each piece of writing.

I began to think about my writing process and realized that I have never once planned a post. Sometimes I have an idea about what I want to write, but more often than not, I’ll be running or reading or otherwise engaged and a thought will pop into my head that inspires me to write. So I do. I begin to type and I just see where the words take me.

And that’s when it hit me. Just as art is simply the expression of one single moment, one idea, one inspiration, the appreciation of art isn’t possible in every moment, from every perspective, by everyone. Because I, as the artist, can’t fully appreciate each art form I’ve created at any given time, doesn’t make it any less valuable. To the contrary, it makes it that much more critical to create when inspiration strikes because that unique form of art may only be possible in that moment. Wait a minute, a day, a week, and it’s gone. Something may replace it, sure, but not the same thing.

All of which brings me to what I’ve come to believe is the highest goal of any art. Not to be revered by millions of people or to earn a steep financial reward. But simply to connect with one person, in that one moment when they’re ready to receive it. On any other day, at any other time, they might glance at it and move on. But on that day, at that moment, it might just change everything.

How to Matter
howtomatter.com

A Philosopher’s Notes – Little By Little‏

The  Buddha tells us that one becomes good little by little—as a water pot is filled  with water, drop by drop by drop. (He also tells us that one becomes evil, little by little, drop by drop by little decision drop.)

Little by little. Drop by drop.
Little by little. Drop by drop.
After years of trying to fill my water pot ALL! AT! ONCE!, I’m finally
understanding that my attempts to change everything NOW were like trying to fill
a beautiful, delicate water pot with a fire hydrant. Rather than winding up with
a full pot, I pretty much sprayed the thing all around the room (and nearly
cracked it!).
Little by little. Drop by drop.
That’s the way to roll.
Moment by moment. Little decision by little mundane decision. Day in and day
out. THAT’s where it’s at.

Brian Johnson, Chief Philosopher

www.philosophersnotes.com

Red bricks‏

Along Main and Pleasant and Spring,

shoulder to shoulder through town

stand all these red brick buildings.

Brick by brick, a city is made.

Each brick was laid by hand,

with a trowel and a string, and an eye

for straight lines and plumb edges.

All of the walls, the straight ones,

the worn, painted ones,

the old and crumbling, leaning ones

are pages of an old book.

The arched windows,

the palladian windows,

the columns and corbels,

pediments and pilasters set in

at the rousing turn of the last century

by men in overalls and cardigans,

intent on creating a beautiful wall

and a fine city, are not like modern windows.

They say something.

Everything in this world,

every tangle of undergrowth,

every rumpled cloud,

every troubled tribe,

every sorry excuse for a soul

was laid by hand.

__________________

Steve Garnaas-Holmes

Unfolding Light

www.unfoldinglight.net

Building a Bridge

An old man, traveling a lone highway,

Came at the evening cold and gray,

To a chasm deep and wide.

The old man crossed in the twilight dim,

or the sullen stream held no fears for him,

But he turned when he reached the other side,

And builded a bridge to span the tide.

“Old man,” cried a fellow pilgrim near,

“You are wasting your strength with building here;

Your journey will end with the ending day,

And you never again will pass this way.

“You have crossed the chasm deep and wide.

Why build you a bridge at eventide?”

And the builder raised his old gray head:

“Good friend, on the path I have come,” he said,

“There followeth after me today

A youth whose feet will pass this way.”

“This stream, which has been as naught to me,

To that fair-haired boy may a pitfall be;

He, too, must cross in the twilight dim –

Good friend, I am building this bridge for him.”

~W.A. Dromgoole

Public Domain

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