Falling in love (with life)

26 03 2014

Geotube Proposal Building, Dubai

 Brenda TelchakPhotography – Architecture

Catching the Last Sunlight

      Via mina jafari                                      WeAreOne ♥ 

WeAreOne ♥

Catching the Last Sunlight

 

  

S.A. UNDEAD

S.A. UNDEAD • 3 days ago
~ bokeh feather ~

~ bokeh feather ~

not sure if they are flying or falling ...

Made me laugh





Sound of goodbye: Last scene

11 03 2014

The last scene

If you ask people: What do you regret most? The things you did or the things you didn`t do, they answer, with longing, the things they  didn`t do. When looking back, the things you didn`t say or do, linger on. The silence can speaks so loud and haunt you in the quiet night. Luckily, many have tought me this valuable lesson, and today I can`t thank them enough. When the bridge bridge collapsed under my feet, they stood there as I rebuilt it, stone by stone. I didn`t always realize it since fog hid their beautiful faces, but I always recognized them in the end. They saved me enough to see and take an outstretched hand when I needed it.

Some didn`t have pillars of safety to stand on when they built their lives. So what about them? What about those who couldn`t let their tears flow when they wanted? How can I ever compare my experiences to that? The lack of scaffolding must feel like swimming without seeing land. “True”, you might say, but this can bring out incredible strength in people. “True”, I`d answer with a sad voice. “But it still drains their energy for such a long time”. “And what about those who lose their lives in the effort? How many had to let go right before they reached the shore?

I have no answers, but I do have my ability to ask since they didn`t take that away from me. My gift is to give back what I got to show my appreciation and gratitude. I`ll promise to give as much as I got with the warmth of this truth energizing me forever.

Who knows? One day one of them might feel as touched as me when I stretch out my hand and they take it. What if they one day get the chance to think like I do? In an integrative blender my thoughts and feelings have intermingled until this simple truth came out: If this isn`t nice, then I don`t know what is.

m6

Weekly Writing Challenge: Golden Year

Sugababes – Sound Of Goodbye

High suicide rates

Psychology Today

Mirrorgirl

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kind in heart

24 02 2014

We all need The sound of voices through the silence

The events in Ukraine has triggered to many of us. We start to think about evil and injustice. If you think too much about that, it`s easy to feel helpless and scared. Completely natural and reasonable, but if we only focus on the bad things, we feel powerless. A dear friend of me lost a friend in Ukraine, and my heart reaches out to her and all the people who lost their lives because they dared to break the silence that many of us worship. Luckily, I know the power of breaking the silence. Like a freeing laugh in a tense situation, speaking up releases a cascade of reactions sorely needed. Put you`r imagination on fire and mentally hug your ability to change things. Who knows, you might be the person who started the chain reaction, leading to a better world for us all.

For people in need of more inspiration to battle helplessness, these pictures and this site might give you the necessary encouragement.

The sound of the second violin | Mirrorgirl

Let us change the world

Weekly Writing Challenge

The Project20130421-182324.jpg

 

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The Project

 

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Unsaid words:

  1. Weekly Writing Challenge: The Sound of Silence | MAGGIE’S BLOG
  2. Milgram, Behavioural Study of Obedience
  3. Heightened Senses | Reality to Randomness
  4. Screaming in Silence | Reaching for the Stars
  5. Silence | Grilled Cheese (& Other Things That Make My World Go ‘Round)
  6. Tears over Gravlax | Not the Family Business!
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  18. In Retrospect, a Response to a Poem I Wrote as a Teen | The Positivity Project
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  20. This is Silence | abundance in the boondocks
  21. ” “ | tabularin0a
  22. The Cruel Silence. | Abstractions of Life
  23. Within the Sounds of Silence ~ Weekly Writing Challenge | DCTdesigns Creative Canvas
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  25. The Strength of the Quiet Moment | Songs Of Support
  26. Thought Connections | “Aspernauts” and other musings…
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  28. It’s Noisy Being Human | noontimethoughts
  29. meeting place | yi-ching lin photography
  30. » Weekly Writing Challenge: The Sound of Silence | Chiquitita
  31. Void | The Salt
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  35. The language of silence | Emovere
  36. A Cacophony of Silence | A Wild One Within
  37. Unsaid | Silver.Boox
  38. my tug-of-war with SILENCE | YES i WONDER…
  39. Breaking His Silence | Focal Breeze
  40. The Countdown | Omnithings
  41. The Sound of Silence – a short story | Thingiemajingie
  42. Thoughts on Sarajevo | roastbeefandrakija
  43. Enter Silence | The Silver Leaf Journal
  44. Rarity of Quiet | Corned Beef Hashtag
  45. Gray silence | Stories from aside
  46. School Vacation Routine for Parents | A Fit and Focused Future
  47. DP Weekly Writing Challenge: Silence | Phylor’s Blog
  48. On the art of better living | soulfoood
  49. DP challenge: silence | shape shifting
  50. Orion 83 – Part 5 – The Silence | L5GN
  51. the (not always so) sweet sound of silence | serene interior designs
  52. Silence | The Wonder of Yarrow House
  53. I DROVE IN SILENCE | I’m How Old?!
  54. Mute | Of love, life and such magic
  55. The Wait Of Silence | Wise Blood
  56. Searching for Silence | Dance With Madness
  57. Man-Made | martha0stout
  58. Scenes From the Lobby | pryorities
  59. Adjustment Periods Are THE WORST… | Grilled Cheese (& Other Things That Make My World Go ‘Round)
  60. The Sound of Silence on the Set on Mt. Tamalpais (Weekly Writing Challenge: The Sound of Silence) | The San Francisco Scene–Seen!
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  62. Dawn’s Silence #poetry #photography | Moondustwriter’s Blog
  63. The Silent Treatment | fingerprintwriting
  64. Silence of my home | The Word Trance
  65. Is it Really Golden? | Testing the Strength I Have
  66. Hue Of Silence | Views Splash!
  67. Riding Accident – A response to wordpress “silence” writing challenge | pocketfulofrocks
  68. Weekly Writing Challenge: The Sound of Silence | Moonlight Reflections
  69. Of Gods and Men | Alyeska-Arts
  70. Tune of Silence | dandelionsinwind
  71. Silence is Deafening | mary’s blog
  72. The Sound Of Silence | remindyourmind
  73. The Sound of Silence | Alexia Jones
  74. Weekly Writing Challenge: The Sound of Silence, 23.02.14 | Markie’s Daily Blog
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  76. Weekly Writing Challenge: The Sound of Silence | Basically Beyond Basic
  77. Weekly Writing Challenge: The Sound of Silence | jinyasa
  78. What You Can Hear in the Silence | krstokely
  79. The Sound of Silence: Can You Imagine It? | Just Be V
  80. The sound of breaking the silence | Free advice from a clinical psychologist
  81. Weekly Writing Challenge: The Sound of Silence | Heauxdolly
  82. The Sound Of Silence | Here is my life, to share with the worldWWC: The Sound of Silence | The Crucial Kiwi
  83. The Sound of Silence | The Joy of Health Nutrition and Beauty
  84. A Silent Hunt. | The Shady Tree
  85. Silence Speaks Louder Than Words | Creative Mysteries
  86. Silence of the Cat | The Adventures of Cat Madigan
  87. Weekly Writing Challenge: The Sound of Silence #writing | Of Glass & Paper
  88. The sound of … | How to write a memo
  89. Behind the Facade of the Narcissist’s Silent Treatment | An Upturned Soul
  90. Weekly Writing Challenge: The Sound of Silence – Breaking the Barrier | humanTriumphant
  91. The Painting On The Wall | Midnight Butterfly
  92. Weekly Writing Challenge: Silent Screams | NOWHERE TO RUN
  93. Weekly Writing Challenge: The Sound of Silence | MARGARET ROSE STRINGER
  94. The Sound of Silence | 101 Challenges in 1001 Days
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  96. Weekly Writing Challenge: The Sound of Silence | Chronicles of an Anglo Swiss
  97. Hush me again, I can’t stand it. | May van Reenen
  98. it’s haircut day | Musings of a Random Mind
  99. My Quest for the Sound of Silence | Schizo Incognito
  100. No Curse | scottishmomus
  101. Weekly Writing Challenge: The Sound of Silence | The Wandering Poet




Know thy boundaries

13 02 2014
Know thy boundaries

20140117-230334.jpgTonight I flew on the tones of a violin.
A small voice in my head whispered: Know thy boundaries. I had no time to think more about it, since I started to fall towards the ground. I saw it rushing nearer and somehow I knew, I would land safely. As I hit the little square mattress with a thud, my eyes flickered before I opened them again. The air sizzled with magic, so I could barely see anything around me. When the glittering and sparkling stopped, a clear, orange line grew into view. Confused, I tried to open my covered eyes. It was hard to focus, as some of the glitter fell into my eyes. I thought: «God know what they`re hiding in those weak and sunken minds». 


I now saw everything clear. The orange was a long, straight line lying right in front of me. 


On the other side was the waste lands; Barren, hard and dead. The insight hit me like an arrow through the heart: Know thy boundaries. 


I relaxed again, and let the tape play over again in my head. Not everyone lands safe, and not every bridge stands. I know this know, and let the last stones crumble around me as I saw her face hit the ground for one last time. 


Protected: Narrative part 3: The bridge of love

For password, email me at forfreepsychology@gmail.com
Protected: The sound of breaking through heaven

Protected: The sound of 300 heartbeats

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Protected: The sound of breaking mirrors

The icy wind lifted me to the land of unknown, keeping me in the air long enough to glimpse what lay below and long enough to know I would either die or live. 

There is a thin line between life or death.
«And if I had to break, I`d be cold as a stone, that turn all those good hearts away»
mirrorgirl
mirror




If that`s not very nice, than what is?

12 02 2014

Yesterday I put all my energy in a cup. I had a clear image of how the energy looked: Colorful, pulsing and vivid. It sparkled in its entire splendor, barely contained by the cup`s wall. I was happy. Happy that I could do what I wanted, without anyone noticing or scolding me. My total freedom to see and dream and live, threatened to overflow the boundaries of what I thought was possible.  I thought:  So what? If sparkling energy spills over, into the table, out in the environment, is that the worst thing that can happen? Or like Kurt Vonnegut would have said: If this isn`t nice, I don`t know what is.

More:

A Man Without a Country Quotes by Kurt Vonnegut – Goodreads

 Random acts of kindness week





How long have I got left?

2 02 2014

How Long Have I Got Left?

Reblog By PAUL KALANITHIJAN. 24, 2014

People react differently to hearing “Procedure X has a 70 percent chance of survival” and “Procedure Y has a 30 percent chance of death.” Phrased that way, people flock to Procedure X, even though the numbers are the same. When a close friend developed pancreatic cancer, I became the medical maven to a group of people who were sophisticated statisticians. I still dissuaded them from looking up the statistics, saying five-year survival curves are at least five years out of date. Somehow I felt that the numbers alone were too dry, or that a physician’s daily experience with illness was needed for context. Mostly, I felt that impulse: Keep a measure of hope.

These survival curves, called Kaplan-Meier curves, are one way we measure progress in cancer treatment, plotting the number of patients surviving over time. For some diseases, the line looks like an airplane gently beginning its descent; for others, like a dive bomber. Physicians think a lot about these curves, their shape, and what they mean. In brain-cancer research, for example, while the numbers for average survival time haven’t changed much, there’s an increasingly long tail on the curve, indicating a few patients are living for years. The problem is that you can’t tell an individual patient where she is on the curve. It’s impossible, irresponsible even, to be more precise than you can be accurate.

One would think, then, that when my oncologist sat by my bedside to meet me, I would not immediately demand information on survival statistics. But now that I had traversed the line from doctor to patient, I had the same yearning for the numbers all patients ask for. I hoped she would see me as someone who both understood statistics and the medical reality of illness, that she would give me certainty, the straight dope. I could take it. She flatly refused: “No. Absolutely not.” She knew very well I could — and did — look up all the research on the topic. But lung cancer wasn’t my specialty, and she was a world expert. At each appointment, a wrestling match began, and she always avoided being pinned down to any sort of number.

20130602-215116.jpgNow, instead of wondering why some patients persist in asking statistics questions, I began to wonder why physicians obfuscate when they have so much knowledge and experience. Initially when I saw my CT scan, I figured I had only a few months to live. The scan looked bad. I looked bad. I’d lost 30 pounds, developed excruciating back pain and felt more fatigued every day. My tests revealed severely low protein levels and low blood counts consistent with the body overwhelmed, failing in its basic drive to sustain itself.

For a few months, I’d suspected I had cancer. I had seen a lot of young patients with cancer. So I wasn’t taken aback. In fact, there was a certain relief. The next steps were clear: Prepare to die. Cry. Tell my wife that she should remarry, and refinance the mortgage. Write overdue letters to dear friends. Yes, there were lots of things I had meant to do in life, but sometimes this happens: Nothing could be more obvious when your day’s work includes treating head trauma and brain cancer.

But on my first visit with my oncologist, she mentioned my going back to work someday. Wasn’t I a ghost? No. But then how long did I have? Silence.

Of course, she could not stop my intense reading. Poring over studies, I kept trying to find the one that would tell me when my number would be up. The large general studies said that between 70 and 80 percent of lung cancer patients would die within two years. They did not allow for much hope. But then again, most of those patients were older and heavy smokers. Where was the study of nonsmoking 36-year-old neurosurgeons? Maybe my youth and health mattered? Or maybe my disease was found so late, had spread so far, and I was already so far gone that I was worse off than those 65-year-old smokers.

Many friends and family members provided anecdotes along the lines of my-friend’s-friend’s-mom’s-friend or my-uncle’s-barber’s-son’s-tennis-partner has this same kind of lung cancer and has been living for 10 years. Initially I wondered if all the stories referred to the same person, connected through the proverbial six degrees. I disregarded them as wishful thinking, baseless delusion. Eventually, though, enough of those stories seeped in through the cracks of my studied realism.

And then my health began to improve, thanks to a pill that targets a specific genetic mutation tied to my cancer. I began to walk without a cane and to say things like, “Well, it’s pretty unlikely that I’ll be lucky enough to live for a decade, but it’s possible.” A tiny drop of hope.

In a way, though, the certainty of death was easier than this uncertain life. Didn’t those in purgatory prefer to go to hell, and just be done with it? Was I supposed to be making funeral arrangements? Devoting myself to my wife, my parents, my brothers, my friends, my adorable niece? Writing the book I had always wanted to write? Or was I supposed to go back to negotiating my multiyear job offers?

The path forward would seem obvious, if only I knew how many months or years I had left. Tell me three months, I’d just spend time with family. Tell me one year, I’d have a plan (write that book). Give me 10 years, I’d get back to treating diseases. The pedestrian truth that you live one day at a time didn’t help: What was I supposed to do with that day? My oncologist would say only: “I can’t tell you a time. You’ve got to find what matters most to you.”

I began to realize that coming face to face with my own mortality, in a sense, had changed both nothing and everything. Before my cancer was diagnosed, I knew that someday I would die, but I didn’t know when. After the diagnosis, I knew that someday I would die, but I didn’t know when. But now I knew it acutely. The problem wasn’t really a scientific one. The fact of death is unsettling. Yet there is no other way to live.

The reason doctors don’t give patients specific prognoses is not merely because they cannot. Certainly, if a patient’s expectations are way out of the bounds of probability — someone expecting to live to 130, or someone thinking his benign skin spots are signs of impending death — doctors are entrusted to bring that person’s expectations into the realm of reasonable possibility.

But the range of what is reasonably possible is just so wide. Based on today’s therapies, I might die within two years, or I might make it to 10. If you add in the uncertainty based on new therapies available in two or three years, that range may be completely different. Faced with mortality, scientific knowledge can provide only an ounce of certainty: Yes, you will die. But one wants a full pound of certainty, and that is not on offer.

82e286270dbd7d085204a944fe240ce7What patients seek is not scientific knowledge doctors hide, but existential authenticity each must find on her own. Getting too deep into statistics is like trying to quench a thirst with salty water. The angst of facing mortality has no remedy in probability.

I remember the moment when my overwhelming uneasiness yielded. Seven words from Samuel Beckett, a writer I’ve not even read that well, learned long ago as an undergraduate, began to repeat in my head, and the seemingly impassable sea of uncertainty parted: “I can’t go on. I’ll go on.” I took a step forward, repeating the phrase over and over: “I can’t go on. I’ll go on.” And then, at some point, I was through.

I am now almost exactly eight months from my diagnosis. My strength has recovered substantially. In treatment, the cancer is retreating. I have gradually returned to work. I’m knocking the dust off scientific manuscripts. I’m writing more, seeing more, feeling more. Every morning at 5:30, as the alarm clock goes off, and my dead body awakes, my wife asleep next to me, I think again to myself: “I can’t go on.” And a minute later, I am in my scrubs, heading to the operating room, alive: “I’ll go on.”

Paul Kalanithi is a chief resident in neurological surgery at Stanford University.

mirrorgirl

General introduction to “Mirrorgirl”

 





The sound of the storm

31 01 2014

There`s times when I don`t understand life at all.

Then there`s times when I see everything perfectly clear.

Often, moments of clarity manifest themselves after doubt, sorrow and uncertainty. When I`ve searched for an answer, not finding it. When I have crept through mudand thought I`d never see again. I wanted to leave my footprints, I wanted to have someone walking beside me. When torn away from me, I feel like there`s no meaning. When bridges collapse, and fires burn what`s left, I can barely stand at all. That`s when the storm ends. That`s when I discover someone`s been carrying me all along. That`s when I see I needed to feel like that, I needed the world to drown me, so I could appreciate air. That`s when I realize it`s fine that it didn`t work the first time, because it makes everything more meaningful when it does. That`s when I don`t need to grasp for anything, because everything has grasped me.

That`s when I`m alive.mirrorgirl

The sound of the storm








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Keep it simple, but significant!

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Neurodivergent Rebel

Rebelling against a culture that values assimilation over individuality.

Human Life Run

Mistakes Are Reality Of Life.Lets Understand and Move on!!

Solace

Your inner health with Jason Lee

Logical Quotes

Logical and Inspirational Quotes

jennifersekella

This WordPress.com site is the bee's knees

MAKE ME UP MARIE

An authentic lifestyle blog and open journal | Written by Marie Penrose

raynotbradbury

We are cups, constantly being filled. The trick is, knowing how to tip ourselves over and let the beautiful stuff out.

Oriana's Notes

Just some stuff you might like. Or not. What do I know about you.

Child of Cynicism

"We're just two lost souls swimming in a fishbowl year after year."

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Within the confines of one's mind lay the keys to eternity

Musings of PuppyDoc

Poetry & Medicine

Invisible Illnesses

Awareness, Education, Research & Quips

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en opplysningsblogg om Asperger syndrom

Captain Awkward

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