What are you busy about?

“It is not enough to be busy. So are the ants. The question is what are we busy about?” – Henry D. Thoreau

What are we busy about? Are we busy counting all the leaves on that beloved tree in our backyard? What are we busy about? Are we busy stacking pennies for the proverbial rainy day? What are we busy about? I have been busy thinking about time. It bothers me that people say there’s not enough time in the day to carry out whatever it is that must be accomplished. Technology and the inventor’s ingenuity have given us so many tools for us to save time doing stuff. Think about it. Yet we never seem to have time for much. So what is it that keeps us busy?  Our work occupies much of our time. We work to fulfill our goals for the future. We are willing to work overtime to make more money so that we can accumulate wealth to spend our time in the future worry free. We have to make time for our daily chores such as laundry, cooking, cleaning, and getting ourselves organized. But when you have people who do that stuff for you, then why do we still say we are too busy. Some people are just busy in their minds. They think they are busy but they are not. They are only busy worrying about being too busy. So then, what are we busy about? Most of us are always in a rush to get somewhere because we do not have time. Some people said to me, “I am glad you have the time to write.” They make me feel guilty about it as if though I have this arsenal of time that I am not sharing with them. Is it that we lack organization or do not know how to manage our time? Again what are we so busy about?

Here is an interesting thought by  Eric Hoffer:

“The feeling of being hurried is not usually the result of living a full life and having no time. It is on the contrary born of a vague fear that we are wasting our life.When we do not do the one thing we ought to do, we have no time for anything else – we are the busiest people in the world.”

I do not know if the time I spend thinking about time and being busy is good use of my time. I dread not being busy and being bored. I feel that time is so precious to be misused and that keeping busy must be a good thing. I guess I am most fearful of when people are too busy for me. Perhaps I am selfish but I do not want my children to be so busy that they cannot take time out for old mom. I do not think that I have ever been too busy for them and if I have then I will take this opportunity to apologize.

Socrates said, “beware the barrenness of a busy life.” I want busy to mean productive. I do not want to be “busy dying” and I do not want to die not being busy enough. Do I make sense?

In the event that I have confused you. I want to leave you with some quotes from my favorite poets and authors that I collected during my free time this very busy week.

“The busy have no time for tears.” 
                                Lord Byron

“Life seems but a quick succession of busy nothings.”

                                                   -Jane Austen

“An artist is a creature driven by demons. He doesn’t know why they choose him and he’s usually too busy to wonder why. 

                                                              -William Faulkner

WHAT ARE YOU BUSY ABOUT? POST YOUR RESPONSE. 

 

Multiple Shape Mandala

Melba Christie (c) 2016

moments

I just lived through a precious moment as I looked at photos of my beautiful grandchildren. What a gift God has given me and my husband. We are their Abuela and Abuelo. Wow!!!

Melba Christie at Poemattic

I love this word. It implies an instant in time that may never repeat itself. Measurable only to the extent that it is memorable or special. Moments become timeless. Then there is the Aha! moment. I have had a few of those    change my life. Someone once said that there is no happiness only moments of happiness. Precious moments could be classified as moments of happiness. But some moments can be appraised as awkward. Can someone’s awkward moment be another’s precious moment? Van Goethe said, “every second is of infinite value.” So we may want to seize the moment to make sure that we stay in the present as much as possible. I want to make sure that the moments I may be able to produce for others are touching moments and become cherished by the receiver. I just wrote a poem about a poet

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Ask Yourself

Ask Yourself

Ask yourself , why? 

Ask yourself,   when?

Ask yourself , how?

Ask yourself, who?

Ask yourself, where?

The answers may not readily appear.

But from what I could hear:

The answers adhere

to One Source,

with only one course.

Your heart will finally respond

believe it

and pass it on.

The Heart is your Home

I Remember Papa

Thinking about my dad on the day before Father’s day.

Melba Christie at Poemattic

My memories line up one by one to honor you

every day since your passing.

They have been so faithful

and soothing to me all these years

Some come in so clear

and transport me

I remember papa dear

your never ending kindness and generosity

towards everyone

No one would be allowed

to suffer on your watch.

I remember papa

how you’d laugh so hard at

your own jokes

I remember papa

how you taught me to love opera

even though I did not understand it.

I remember papa how you’d sing

along with Mitch on TV

and then later serenaded mom until she danced with you.

I remember papa

how proud you were to be Puerto Rican,

and dreamed of returning to your

island of emerald green.

I remember papa

how you cherished my mother

and made her feel like a queen.

But most of all

I remember papa

that…

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To My Late Father

To My Late Father

 

I have forgotten what your voice sounds like

But I remember the things you said to calm me and give me strength

I have forgotten what made you the happiest

But I remember your smile

When you looked at me from afar and thought I was not looking

I have forgotten the true color of your eyes

But I remember their gleam when all your children were around

I have forgotten how tall you were exactly

But I remember that you were a giant in my eyes

I have forgotten your gait or how you walked into a room

But I remember I wanted to follow in your footsteps

I have forgotten your favorite color

But I remember how much you loved autumn foliage

I have forgotten many of the little things about you.

But I remember how you cared so deeply for those less fortunate

I remember how hard you worked to make sure we had it all.

I remember your love for art and music.

I remember your generous heart.

I remember how you loved my mother.

I remember how you loved family.

 

Father, I may have forgotten some things about you

But I have never forgotten you.

Places and Spaces

Thinking about the great spaces in nature and those man made by brilliant minds.

Melba Christie at Poemattic

Dedicated to my son

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I heard an architect

take a deep breath

when he saw the space

he thought he had only

envisioned in his imagination;

he was convinced

his Creator was the only

One capable

of designing such a beautiful place.

He asked himself if he should

manifest his desire

to expand his plan

to shape consciousness

to insist on harmony

to expand his perspective

beyond the first womb

where vital lessons about living

were learned in stillness

The architect translates

his dreams into reality

to delight the eyes

of humankind

He designs the places and spaces

that help us contemplate nature

without boundaries

to let us know we are interconnected

All One

Clouded sky

Look  around

The view is unique

because Architects

have challenged the skies

they’ve  discovered the shadows

that oppress the spirit

and redirect the influences

that affect the soul.

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Look around

how some spaces remain

indestructible

free…

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Journey

Paths

Melba Christie

 

 

We all start our journey through life,

with the pitter-patter of our feet.

a milestone most of us meet,

by about the age of one,

all is discovery and so much fun.

 

But life will take you down many paths

some will be rough and some smooth

some you will hate

some you will love

some created just for you with blessings from above

 

Each journey a stop but not a destiny

each step purposeful and meaningful

so many lessons to be learned

even when you decide to make a sharp turn.

The journey of life

no one knows the measure

but try to make each moment

one to be treasured.

 

 

 

 

 

 

When We Listen

When We listen

When we listen
we can hear the unspoken words
of the sages of the future

when we listen
the songs of the crickets
are meant to heal our souls

when we listen
we can decipher
the secret whispers
of the butterflies

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Photo by Melba Christie

When we listen
we can hear
the heart strings of a young lover
strumming like an acoustic guitar

when we listen
we can hear
the harp of our soul
playing an opus
to help us become
more aware of who we are

when we listen
there’s no telling
what sounds will resonate
to help us appreciate
the life we take for granted
all the more.

Will We Be Ready?

Thinking about some of Life’s questions. I guess I am feeling a little philosophical and inquisitive in general. What do you think? Are you ready?

Melba Christie at Poemattic

the falls

Essential question:

Will we be ready?

Ready for what?

To be who we are supposed to be.

Response:

What do you mean?

I am who I am.

I am who I am supposed to be.

Rationale?

We are suppose to be

a seed,

to breed love

unconditionally.

We are suppose to be

a dance,

choreographed with perfect

movements, creating

expressions of

deep empathy, and

the essence of what

life is all about.

We are supposed to be

a soothing song of springtime.

We are supposed to be the composer

who delves deep into our hearts

to help us find our very own arias

and makes us listen closely to the beats

that mark our time on this earth.

Internal Question:

Wow! Will I be ready?

Answer:

You bet!

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The Old Address Book

The old leather bound address book

sits faithfully and patiently

on the desk he would sit at for hours.

 

He does not open it anymore;

the names inside,

phantoms of the past,

long distance area codes,

of the places he loved to visit with old friends.

attached are notes with extra large paper clips

remind him to call for one reason or another

but he cannot remember if he did .

 

Mother turns the pages

as she softly sings the alphabet song.

She stops at the letter “J”

hoping the name “Jo” jogs his memory.

 

She then turns to the letter “M”

and then like magic

he calls out “mama”

and asks for the phone

because he forgot to call her today

tears quickly rush down his face

he remembered

she is gone.