Mind changes . . .
Sunday, June 15, 2025 . It's Sol's day . . . and the Summer weather pattern is full-on for TulseyTown, headed for the Solstice this coming Friday. The weatherfeather indicates near calm breezes, cloud cover and mid 80's this afternoon.
Today is Father's Day in the U.S.
“Power without love is reckless and abusive, and love without power is sentimental and anemic. Power at its best is love implementing the demands of justice, and justice at its best is power correcting everything that stands against love." – Martin Luther King, Jr.
The world has always been held together by a very few people at any given time. Love has never been a popular movement, only a powerful one. We can all become better than we are, but the price can be higher than we can imagine. – James Baldwin.
Never hesitate to talk back to God when she pisses you off. – Mirabai Starr
Where do the wars, the capitalist corporate aggression, and greed beyond words all come from? They all come from the uncontrolled mind that dominates our speech, our thinking, and our actions. If we multiply that by seven billion we can see where the problem lies. We cannot just blame the politicians; we have to look closer... [When we do we find] ignorance. Especially the ignorance of believing our own ideas are the truth:[We tell ourselves constantly] What I think must be right, because that is what I think. – Jetsunma Tenzin Palmo (whose birthday is at the end of this month), from The Heroic Heart, Shambhala, 2022. https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Tenzin_Palmo
Gratefulness is not a feeling; it’s a practice. Changing your mind can take a while.
Healing
… the wounds to the soul take a long, long time
and patience, and a certain difficult repentance
… from the endless repetition of the mistake
which mankind at large has chosen to sanctify.
— D.H Lawrence, “Healing,” Last Poems, Viking Press.1933 (this book is out of print).
Another American nightmare . . .
Saturday, June 14, 2025. It's the Satyr's day in umbrella/rain hat season. A thunderstorm visited TulseyTown briefly this morning. Easy Southeasterlies and cloud cover are forecasted for the rest of the day in the mid 80's with slight rain chances remaining through the nighttime hours.
Diablo Cody turns 47 today. Born in1978 Lemont, Illinois, she is a multiple laureate writer, producer, director for film, stage and literature.
Che Guevara was born on this day in 1928 Rosario, Argentina.
Speaking of revolutions...
Two hundred and fifty years ago, on June 14, 1775 Congress established the Continental Army.
Old Glory is 248 years old. Ttoday is Flag Day in the U.S.
And it's “No Kings” day with demonstrations across the country in over 2,000 cities.
Heather Cox Richardson recently posted an excellent conversation with Secretary Pete Buttigieg on the future of America. Worth your time.
Stump a toe while a black cat crossed your path yesterday? So, what's the story behind Friday the 13th?
Last Blow in the Death of an American Nightmare
It happened in the market square in Springfield, Missouri, in 1865. The parties involved were James Butler “Wild Bill” Hickok — a professional gambler and former Union scout — and Davis Tutt, a cowboy and former Confederate soldier. The two men had a falling out over a woman and a gambling debt, and finally agreed to settle their differences in a duel. They faced off at a distance of about 75 paces and fired simultaneously. Tutt’s shot went wild, but Hickok’s hit Tutt through the heart.
In the heartland of Missouri
where even in July Springs sprang forth
in once flowering Fields birthing a name
no longer befitting the place,
The last of the dying Confederacy
gave up on the schizophrenic split
between passions, attempted to unify them
in the street.
Poor ol’Davis Tutt shot through the heart
once used for an unmeasurable
and another quite measurable love,
at least according to Wild Bill,
who apparently decided to measure both
with a bullet.
– jab
Happiness . . .
Friday, June 13, 2025. It's Freya's day . . . and gentle Southerlies bring cloud-cover to TulseyTown today and tomorrow. The weatherfeather indicates mid 80's and that traditional Summer 20% chance for on/off rain.
The Nobel laureate poet William Butler Yeats was born on this day in 1865 Dublin, Ireland.
...the Trump administration is vowing to get rid of the democratically elected government of California by using military force. That threat is the definition of a coup. – Heather Cox Richardson, posted last night in Letters From An American.
No Kings Day . . . Two hundred fifty years ago, on June 14, 1775, Americans created an army to defend ourselves from an alien force intent on suppressing our right to home rule and threatening personal security in our homes and workplaces. Tomorrow, on June 14, 2025, we will be demonstrating across this country against our wannabe king and his decision to destroy the constitutional rights that Americans fought long and hard to secure...We will not allow this to happen any more than did our forebears. – Robert Reich.
Happiness
There's just no accounting for happiness,
or the way it turns up like a prodigal
who comes back to the dust at your feet
having squandered a fortune far away.
And how can you not forgive?
You make a feast in honor of what
was lost, and take from its place the finest
garment, which you saved for an occasion
you could not imagine, and you weep night and day
to know that you were not abandoned,
that happiness saved its most extreme form
for you alone.
No, happiness is the uncle you never
knew about, who flies a single-engine plane
onto the grassy landing strip, hitchhikes
into town, and inquires at every door
until he finds you asleep midafternoon
as you so often are during the unmerciful
hours of your despair.
It comes to the monk in his cell.
It comes to the woman sweeping the street
with a birch broom, to the child
whose mother has passed out from drink.
It comes to the lover, to the dog chewing
a sock, to the pusher, to the basketmaker,
and to the clerk stacking cans of carrots
in the night.
It even comes to the boulder
in the perpetual shade of pine barrens,
to rain falling on the open sea,
to the wineglass, weary of holding wine.
– Jane Kenyon, from Otherwise: New and Selected Poems. Graywolf Press. 1997. Published posthumously.