THE GEM 14 OCTOBER 2018 : NEVER TRAVEL FAR WITHOUT A ROPE! AND ONE THAT IS LONG AND STRONG AND LIGHT. IT MAY BE A HELP IN MANY NEEDS. -J.R.R. TOLKIEN, THE LORD OF THE RINGS

the GEM COLLECTION 2018

I am at the ship’s prow. I am no longer the suicide with her raft and paddle. Herr Doktor! I’ll no longer die to spite you, you wallowing seasick grounded man.

Anne Sexton (1928-1974), U.S. poet. “The Doctor of the Heart.”

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“Now that I could not go back I was not sure, after all, that I wished to go forward. It was a miserable sensation.” Anna Freeman, The Fair Fight

THE OLD PROVERBIAL RECOVERY

Magnets

I promised myself never to give in
Never to be the hostage of my emotions
Never to let my knees turn to jelly
Never to lust and never to hope
Never to trust nor elope
But your fingertips are magnets
And every piece of my body that you touch
My skin follows, giving in to your warmth
Begging for more, begging for you
I’m letting you take over and control for me
Feverishly, I watch you handle my life
Piecing things together, tearing some apart
And as if you were magic
I sit back and think:
“I am so glad you have my heart”

by Tyler

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“Time goes faster the more hollow it is. Lives with no meaning go straight past you, like trains that don’t stop at your station.” Carlos Ruiz Zafón, The Shadow of the Wind

On The Night Train

A poem by Henry Lawson 1922

Have you seen the bush by moonlight, from the train, go running by?
Blackened log and stump and sapling, ghostly trees all dead and dry:
Here a patch of glassy water; there a glimpse of mystic sky?
Have you heard the still voice calling – yet so warm, and yet so cold:
I’m the Mother-Bush that bore you! Come to me when you are old?

Did you see the Bush below you sweeping darkly to the Range,
All unchanged and all unchanging, yet so very old and strange!
While you thought in softened anger ofthe things that did estrange?
(Did you hear the Bush a-calling, when your heart was young and bold
I’m the Mother-Bush that nursed you; come to me when you are old?)

In the cutting, in the tunnel, out of sight of stack or shed,
Have you heard the grey Bush calling from the pine-ridge overhead:
YouYou have seen the seas and cities; all is cold to you, or dead –
All seems done and all seems told – but the grey-light turns to gold!
I’m the Mother-Bush that loves you; come to me now you are old`?

“I have spoken of Jonah, and of the story of him and the whale. A fit story for ridicule, if it was written to be believed; or of laughter, if it was intended to try what credulity could swallow; for, if it could swallow Jonah and the whale it could swallow anything.” Thomas Paine, The Age of Reason

Jonah and the Whale

by AnonymousA BOUT THE YEAR of one B. C.,
A gallant ship set out to sea,
To catch a whale and salt his tail,
To salt the end of his tail.

But when about a mile from shore
The ship began to dance,
Then every son of a sailorman,
Put on his working pants,
His pants, his pants, his working pants.

And down into the hold they went,
And over the pumps their backs they bent.
They pumped and pumped,
They thought they would drown,
The deck was too wet to sit down.

Then up spoke Mike O’Flaherty,
There’s a Jonah on the boat, sez he;
So off they ran from Mike to Dan,
To find the Jonah Man.

And when upon the deck they came,
His “Nibs” a-smiling sat—
A-lighting a paper cigarette
In the crown of his derby hat,
His hat, his hat, his derby hat.

So they gave a whoop and they gave a yell
And overboard poor Jonah fell.
Sez Mike to Jim, “’Tis better for him—
‘Tis certainly better for him.”

Just then a monster whale passed by,
And Jonah’s trousers caught his eye.
“As I’m a goat, there’s a lunch afloat,”
And he swallowed him into his throat.

Just about then the whale felt ill,
Sez he, “That lunch was poor,
For, judging by the way I feel,
I’ve swallowed a Jonah sure,
A Jonah, a Jonah, a Jonah sure.”

Then Mike McGinty gave a call,
And he coughed up Jonah, pants and all,
‘Twas on the spot (’tis not forgot),
McGinty’s corner lot.

An old whore’s curse is a blessing.

“Anybody can look at a pretty girl and see a pretty girl. An artist can look at a pretty girl and see the old woman she will become. A better artist can look at an old woman and see the pretty girl that she used to be. But a great artist-a master-and that is what Auguste Rodin was-can look at an old woman, protray her exactly as she is…and force the viewer to see the pretty girl she used to be…and more than that, he can make anyone with the sensitivity of an armadillo, or even you, see that this lovely young girl is still alive, not old and ugly at all, but simply prisoned inside her ruined body. He can make you feel the quiet, endless tragedy that there was never a girl born who ever grew older than eighteen in her heart…no matter what the merciless hours have done to her. Look at her, Ben. Growing old doesn’t matter to you and me; we were never meant to be admired-but it does to them.” 
― Robert Heinlein

Jennifer Was A Sea Nymph – by Meenu Alex I had known Jennifer during the degree She was the one who laughed in wild ecstasy When the sea wind ruffled her hair The ship was named after her For the captain always remembered How she laughed standing against the wind In the front top point of the ship Hairs in the air like a sea fairy Hands extended towards the waters with passion She was in love with the sea and the ship She could be in the real self only there She was a sea spirit incarnated I still have her in mind As one who fills the pages, with her laughter and free spirit!

“We do not want merely to see beauty… we want something else which can hardly be put into words- to be united with the beauty we see, to pass into it, to receive it into ourselves, to bathe in it, to become part of it. That is why we have peopled air and earth and water with gods and goddesses, and nymphs and elves.” 
C.S. Lewis

“Now that I could not go back I was not sure, after all, that I wished to go forward. It was a miserable sensation.” Anna Freeman, The Fair Fight

Magnets

I promised myself never to give in
Never to be the hostage of my emotions
Never to let my knees turn to jelly
Never to lust and never to hope
Never to trust nor elope
But your fingertips are magnets
And every piece of my body that you touch
My skin follows, giving in to your warmth
Begging for more, begging for you
I’m letting you take over and control for me
Feverishly, I watch you handle my life
Piecing things together, tearing some apart
And as if you were magic
I sit back and think:
“I am so glad you have my heart”

by Tyler

What did I know, what did I know of love’s austere and lonely offices? Robert Earl Hayden (1913-1980)

Mermaid – Poem by Sanjukta Nag

Long arms of moonlight are stretching out
To the gigantic ocean,
For touching those soft curls
Of her mahogany coloured hair.
Eyes more azure
Than Pacific’s quiet dream
Glowing too bright,
Embarrassing the fluorescence of water.
Resting hands on the fair breasts
She is floating on her back
Gazing at the blessed purple sky.
While silvery cream of starlets
Is nourishing every wet curve
Of her slender body, with
Gentle caress.
But the unfortunate humans are
Still unable to witness
The mystery of her beauty,
Which is carefully confined
Inside the secret chest of Mariana Trench.

One day in the Jesuit house in Rome St lgnatius was sweeping the corridor when a young aspirant who wished to join the Society of Jesus put to him the following question. “Father Ignatius, if you knew that the world would come to an end in fifteen minutes time what would do? Ignatius leant on his broom, looked down his nose at this young man and replied: “I would go on sweeping the corridor”.

There’s a lot to be said for sweeping. Perhaps on a site devoted to Buddhism, it might surprise some that space is given up to this subject, but please suspend judgment for a moment or two, and then perhaps you’ll understand. You see, Buddhism and sweeping have a history. They’re old flames that have been involved with each other for many years. In the two Buddhist traditions this author knows best, Theravada & Zen, sweeping is an established form of practice, as much as vipassana or zazen. It isn’t as glamorous as the latter, and even good old mindful walking is better known in both traditions than sweeping. But, from Zen masters to novice Theravdin monks, sweeping has its place, much appreciated.

“A relationship that is truly genuine does not keep changing its colors. Real gold never rusts. If a relationship is really solid and golden, it will be unbreakable. Not even Time can destroy its shine.” Suzy Kassem, Rise Up and Salute the Sun: The Writings of Suzy Kassem

Silence is golden. Sometimes it’s not necessary to retaliate with words. Silence is the speech of the soul. Understand that, in many situations, you are better off practicing silence than harsh speech which may further fuel negativity.

A man knows his companions in a long journey and a small inn. 

“An acquaintance merely enjoys your company, a fair-weather companion flatters when all is well, a true friend has your best interests at heart and the pluck to tell you what you need to hear.” ― E.A. Bucchianeri, Brushstrokes of a Gadfly

Source: A man knows his companions in a long journey and a small inn. | THE OLD PROVERBIAL RECOVERY

akh tI akh gAyi ka:h : One plus one make eleven. In unity there is strength. Two heads are better than one. Kashmiri.

“As he was about to climb yet another dune, his heart whispered, “Be aware of the place where you are brought to tears. That’s where I am, and thats where your treasure is.”― Paulo Coelho, The Alchemist

Source: akh tI akh gAyi ka:h : One plus one make eleven. In unity there is strength. Two heads are better than one. Kashmiri. | THE OLD PROVERBIAL RECOVERY

“Sweet is the memory of distant friends! Like the mellow rays of the departing sun, it falls tenderly, yet sadly, on the heart.” Washington Irving

Even water, which has a natural tendency to flow downwards, is drawn up to the sky by the sun’s rays. In the same way, God’s grace lifts up the mind which has got a tendency to run after sense objects.

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emotionspassion.com

Emotional musings- emotionspassion@gmail.com

Rowing from Home to Home

Singapore to New Zealand - 12,000km by human power!

Tell my story.

History, Mystery, Research in Progress

Loudest Minds

Funny Posts and Solid Information for those who suffer from bipolar disorder and alcohlism

Sober and Awkward

Learning to stumble through life without the comfort of booze.

SoberPunks

A sweary alcohol recovery blog written by a Yorkshireman

Process Not An Event

Adventures in Addiction Recovery & Cancer Survival

Finding a Sober Miracle

A woman's quest for one year of sobriety

The Devil Drinks Vodka

A mom, wife and professional's journey on recovering from addiction

Box Tree Clinic | Your Key to World Class Private Therapy

Our community of Harley Street therapists provide a high quality private therapy service to improve mental health and wellness within a discreet and beautiful environment.

HEAL & GROW for ACoAs

ACoA Recovery Issues (adult-children of alcoholics & other narcissists)

Acquiescent Soul

Watching life as it passed by

LIGHT ON THE THRESHOLD

WHERE TO START WHEN YOU DON'T KNOW WHERE TO START

BG Daily Post

Daily Recovery Messages

My life and other sordid tales

biographical, non-fiction

I am Responsible

Alcoholics Anonymous Meetings in Mountain City, Tennessee

emotionspassion.com

Emotional musings- emotionspassion@gmail.com

Rowing from Home to Home

Singapore to New Zealand - 12,000km by human power!

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