Category Archives: CHANGE

Change the story, even if you don’t mean to, and the story changes you. Terry Pratchett

Terry Pratchett

 people don’t like change.  But make the change happen fast enough and you go from one type of normal to another
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Our lives are journeys to this same type of metamorphosis, to find a sense of purpose in life. We cannot achieve this without the difficult situations or the pain that life often brings in generous doses.

http://tinybuddha.com/blog/being-patient-through-transformation-trust-change-believe/

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KAFKA

“When Gregor Samsa woke up one morning from unsettling dreams, he found himself changed in his bed into a monstrous vermin. He was lying on his back as hard as armour plate, and when he lifted his head a little, he saw his vaulted brown belly, sectioned by arch-shaped ribs, to whose dome the cover, about to slide off completely, could barely cling. His many legs, pitifully thin compared with the size of the rest of him, were waving helplessly before his eyes.” The Metamorphosis, Chapter 1

Though I roam a minstrel lonely All through the night My true harp shall praise sing only All through the night

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My friend the Angel climb’d up from his station into the mill; I remain’d alone, & then this appearance was no more, but I found myself sitting on a pleasant bank beside a river by moonlight hearing a harper who sung to the harp, & his theme was, The man who never alters his opinion is like standing water, & breeds reptiles of the mind.

WILLIAM BLAKE.

Kuhi no ka lima, hele no ka maka. Where the hands move, there let the eyes follow.

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‘A’A I KA HULA, WAIHO KA HILAHILA I KA HALE

When one wants to dance the hula, bashfulness should be left at home. 

Live with passion.  Do not fear change – embrace it!

http://www.hawaiidiscountblog.com/hawaiian-words-proverbs-and-inspiration/

Too great and sudden changes, though for the better, are not easily borne.

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“How should we be able to forget those ancient myths that are at the beginning of all peoples, the myths about dragons that at the last moment turn into princesses; perhaps all the dragons of our lives are princesses who are only waiting to see us once beautiful and brave. Perhaps everything terrible is in its deepest being something helpless that wants help from us.

So you must not be frightened if a sadness rises up before you larger than any you have ever seen; if a restiveness, like light and cloudshadows, passes over your hands and over all you do. You must think that something is happening with you, that life has not forgotten you, that it holds you in its hand; it will not let you fall. Why do you want to shut out of your life any uneasiness, any miseries, or any depressions? For after all, you do not know what work these conditions are doing inside you.”

― Rainer Maria Rilke, Letters to a Young Poet

” Believe, it thou wilt, that mountains change their places, but believe not that men change their dispositions.”

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To be 70 years old is like climbing the Alps. You reach a snow-crowned summit, and see behind you the deep valley stretching miles and miles away, and before you other summits higher and whiter, which you may have strength to climb, or may not.
(Henry Wadsworth Longfellow)

Great pains, and little gains make men soon weary.

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“I am old, Gandalf. I don’t look it, but I am beginning to feel it in my heart of hearts. Well-preserved indeed! Why, I feel all thin, sort of stretched, if you know what I mean: like butter that has been scraped over too much bread. That can’t be right. I need a change, or something.”

― J.R.R. Tolkien, The Lord of the Rings

The skeletons in my closet carouse and party all night, When one opens the door to pee, gee, I get such a fright.

Smartass Rabbi

Feb 23

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No matter that my heart sinks,
sighs, with the weight of skeletons-

paths I forgot to follow
have slowly sealed

rooms go unrecognised
for fear of change

and I cry at the uncertainty of rainbows.

All the daydreams I stole,
refusing to give them back

are stored as silver dust
and each day is a small breath.

“When she transformed into a butterfly, the caterpillars spoke not of her beauty, but of her weirdness. They wanted her to change back into what she always had been. But she had wings.” ― Dean Jackson

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When she was fourteen, she says,
she ran away from home, at sixteen
she bought a big bike and hit the road,
moving from town to town, looking for
something she can’t explain.

JOHN TRANTER

BUTTERFLY

http://johntranter.net/

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Life is a bridge. Cross over it, but build no house on it. Indian.

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gleniffer bridge at the promised land near bellingen 2008

He stood on the bridge at midnight,

Disturbing my sweet repose,

For “he” was a great big mosquito,

And “the bridge” was the bridge of my nose.

West Coast Sentinel (Streaky Bay, SA  6 March 1931

When thine enemy retreateth, make him a golden bridge
For a flying enemy make a silver bridge

Weather, wind, women, and fortune, change like the moon.

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What can we gain by sailing to the moon if we are not able to cross the abyss that separates us from ourselves? This is the most important of all voyages of discovery, and without it, all the rest are not only useless, but disastrous.

Thomas Merton

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Somehow the killing of a giant spider, all alone by himself in the dark without the help of a wizard or the dwarves or anyone else, made a great difference to Mr. Baggins. He felt a different person, and much fiercer and bolder in spite of an empty stomach as he wiped his sword on the grass and put it back into its sheath.

 Tolkien – The Hobbit

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Richardson has tiff, a drink, which he thinks a corruption of tipple, an allied word ; Ash defines tiff to be a corruption of the Teutonic tepel, a dug or teat, while the ancient author of “Gazophylacium Anglicanum ” surpasses all his predecessors and successors in ingenuity by deriving tipsy and tipple from the Latin tipula, a water-spider, because that in- sect is always drinking ! Mr. Halliwell, without entering on the etymological question, says that in English provincial dialects tiff has three meanings small beer, a draught of any liquor, and to fall headlong from the effects of drink.

All fixed set patterns are incapable of adaptability or pliability. The truth is outside of all fixed patterns. –Bruce Lee

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“Life is neither static nor unchanging. With no individuality, there can be no change, no adaptation and, in an inherently changing world, any species unable to adapt is also doomed.”
― Jean M. Auel

Things changed rapidly in a matter of seconds and no one had any control over anything. We had yet to learn these things and implement survival tactics, which was what it came down to. Ishmael Beah

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“There should be a word for that brief period just after waking when the mind is full of warm pink nothing. You lie there entirely empty of thought, except for a growing suspicion that heading towards you, like a sockful of damp sand in a nocturnal alleyway, are all the recollections you’d really rather do without, and which amount to the fact that the only mitigating factor in your horrible future is the certainty that it will be quite short.” ~Terry Pratchett, Mort

“The important thing isn’t that the bear dances well, rather that the bear dances at all!” — Unknown Smart Person

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Human speech is like a cracked kettle on which we tap crude rhythms for bears to dance to, while we long to make music that will melt the stars.

Gustave Flaubert

Read more at http://www.brainyquote.com/quotes/authors/g/gustave_flaubert.html#73gxDwwvoqdkivSF.99

In the alley The children throw a ball against Their future walls.

Ern Malley: 

The Darkening Ecliptic

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“There are four kinds of people in the world, Ms. Harper. Those who build walls. Those who protect walls. Those who breach walls. And those who tear down walls. Much of life is discovering who you are. When you find out, you also realize there are places you can no longer go, things you can no longer do, words you can no longer say.”

P.S. Baber, Cassie Draws the Universe

foto – wall at the beachshack

One day a tortoise will learn how to fly. (Terry Pratchett, Small Gods)

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Freight and flight

Dawn heat, tarred sky

pink-striped on the horizon

beyond the lights of Darwin and the coast.

My rig sails into this air as though

weightless, two cars tall,

like a low-flying plane, skimming

the highway at the leaf-height

of the woollybutt,

dust clouds streaming,

gauges twitching to the forces

gently carrying me seated

like a gull wafted by a thunderstorm.

Driving this B-double, I’m as lusty

as Apollo, when he hitched his shining chariot,

the sun:

all the dazzlement

of power

focused in the steering column,

fierce stars arrowing

from the polished bull bar,

and a load that could crush me

a hundred times over –

but follows me

docile as a cloud.

“Knowing things is magical, if other people don’t know them.” ― Terry Pratchett, A Hat Full of Sky (Discworld, 32)

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My Hat!

The hats of a man may be many

In the course of a varied career,

And some have been worth not a penny

And some have been devilish dear;

But there’s one hat I always remember
When sitting alone by the fire.

In the depth of a Northern November,

Because it fulfilled my desire.

 

It was old, it was ragged and rotten

And many years out of mode,

Like a thing that a tramp had forgotten

And left at the side of a road.

The boughs of the mulga had torn it,

It’s ribbon was naught but lace,

And old swaggie would not have worn it

Without a sad smile on his face.


When I took off the hat to the ladies

It was rather with sorrow than swank,

And often I wished it in Hades
When the gesture drew only a blank;

But for swatting a fly on the tucker

Or lifting a quart from the fire

Or belting the ribs of a bucker

It was all that a man could desire.

 

When it ought to have gone to the cleaner’s

(And stayed there, as somebody said!)
It was handy for flogging the weaners

From the drafting-yard into the shed.

And oft it has served as a dish for

A kelpie in need of a drink;

It was all that a fellow could wish for

In many more ways than you’d think.

 

It was spotted and stained by the weather,

There was more than one hole in the crown,

And it made little difference whether

The rim was turned up or turned down.

It kept out the rain (in a fashion)

And kept off the sun (more or less),

Bt it merely comanded compassion

Considered as part of one’s dress.

 

Though it wasn’t a hat you would bolt with

Or be anxious to borrow or hire,

It was useful to blindfold a colt with

Or handle a bit of barbed wire.

Though the world may have thought it improper

To wear such old rubbish as that,

I’d have scorned the best London-made topper

In exchange for my old battered hat.

Will Ogilvie  

FOTO – IZZY’S HATS AT RALEIGH