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Sunday, bloody Sunday.

Trying my best to fight severe clinical depression. Fighting hard to get well and be up to being a full time employee somewhere.
Fighting, fighting, fighting.
I try to be the light for others, and hope some of it might rub off on/in yours truly.
Be the Light.
News not only of over another two dozen dead in a Texas church massacre today, but also an additional shooting outside yet another church in California. It kind of puts a dark cloud over the day.
Sigh.
No matter though. A few Twitter comments will solve ALL of this…(and also comfort, feed, support, nurture, and heal the bodies and minds of all the victims and their families.)
And don’t forget to send those victims and their loved ones all guns. LOTS of guns. And ammo. God bless ammunition.
Forget prayers. We got guns. lots of them. Our God given right in fact.
And be sure and look the other way. Always. THAT will fix it for sure.
Then quickly find some other issue to move the spotlight elsewhere. Point fingers and make random accusations about something. Anything. Just make shit up if need be.
Not sure why I can’t seem to get past my depression.
Must be something I ate. Being fed bullshit on a daily basis might have a wee bit to do with it.
Gotta laugh.
Dad and Momma, I GUARANTEE you’re both in a much better place.
Be the Light.
In the end, each other is all we have.
That, and the Serenity Prayer. I checked.  Love Matty
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Hello friends. I haven’t posted anything on my writing site since January. Sigh. Somehow though, folks are still visiting and seeing what’s up. Altogether over 16K visits.
It has been a different sort of year for me, and my family. My Dad is resting now, next to Momma. And I’m sure that while their physical beings remain still and silent, somewhere those two are laughing, embracing, recalling and basking in the love that grew even more so for the + fifteen years they were apart…
I wonder if Momma still drinks a black coffee from a slender cup, and fries his eggs the same way. I wonder if she burns her toast just a little, and steals away with most of the egg whites…And has a bit of orange marmalade to top off her toast? I wonder if he still calls her “Vim”, and makes her laugh so with corny jokes and dotes over her now and again?
I wonder if the lot of them there are able to gather and bask in the light of love and divine healing that prevails…I more hope, and less wonder of that.
The division of family here is like a terminal condition, and yet a soothing balm at the same time. I ache because of its presence, and thank the Lord above for keeping some of them away.
I need to get mobile here in the last few minutes of morning. I have a couple tasks to tend to this afternoon. I hope though, that these few words will incite the creation of more in the near future. I need them to heal, to be the light, and to feel again.
Be well friends. I shall keep on, not one day at a time, but minute by minute, the best I can. If you pray for me, and you should already know I have always prayed for you first…then we’ll all be blessed and one day know all the answers to the questions posed here earlier in this collective piece. Matty

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Sunday afternoon. Quiet day. A day of fog and cool. Very January and deep of winter. Yet the days grow steadily longer, and harbor a quiet promise, a journey that concludes with life underground becoming life the eye can see. Winter is in fact a time of promise, a time of slumber and what will be. Winter is but a quarter of the cycle, ninety degree of the circle of life. If one can endure, then one can bear witness to the emergence of new…of perseverance and will.
Winter is still, and poetry in motion all at once…
Huddle close my friends; the act that follows is well worth the wait…Matthew

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Walked by the river under frosted trees white and true. Frozen shoreline with a steam off the water. The Canada Geese wondering aloud if they ought not have wandered a bit farther south. Grass not covered in meager snow is hard and crushes in protest under my boots.
The silence of a winter day, broken only by the trails of my breath, the warming of engines while the windows clear. I walked alone with just memories in tow. Broken skies and patches of blue with a promise of an even colder snap.And as I bury my hands into warming pockets, I feel an old key you left me, and fill my fingers with memories of me and you…
Cord wood stacked in the yard ‘neath the eaves, top row covered in tarp and snow. I’ll bring in a bundle and feed the coals for a bit of a blaze to warm my feet. Another cup, and other set of songs to keep me company. Maybe ice cream and toast before I call it a day…another peek out on the porch to see the moon through the icicles and mist on the fields.
Night time in winter is a sad song all its own. A chorus in the foggy valley and a fresh layer of straw where the calves are born. I’ll stoke the stock heater, slide the rug up to the door to kill the draft and feed the fire a little more. There might be more hours of darkness, but there is extra time to read, to plan work in the greener months and fence lines to stretch, and thoughts of tender grass shoots to chew.
Time for the slumber and fire to die to coals. A chapter or two before the light is doused and sleep wins the hours…I hope you’re warm and safe and sound. Matty

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to believe…

Potential is a seed in dry ground. Hope is the smell of rain in the air from a passing cloud. Faith is in setting the table and waiting. Love is sharing the harvest …

Matthew, 3:50 am, 12/01/16

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Friends; I’m making a biased and controversial political statement here. I’m going to address bigotry, racial profiling, pipelines, misogyny, religion, borders, immigration, economy, war, WMD, division, joblessness, hate, abortion, credibility, broken promises, etc.

“God grant me the Serenity to accept the things I cannot change,
Courage to change the things I can, and Wisdom to know the difference.”

(I haven’t stayed friends with folks, loved, likable, in love with life, and SOBER for the past 29 years and 9 months without a lot of help. That little prayer is THE most powerful tool in my life arsenal. Try it out. It works!)

Matty

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(It took me about ten minutes to put this here on the screen, but 57 years to write…My gift is your gift, Matty)

I think Bob Dylan was right…sadly; still right. Through the ages, and even more so today. For our Veteran’s, for our fighters, for our innocents and innocence. For our praying souls, and souls who need prayed for…for the dread of dawns and troubled nights.
For the known, the unknown, those tied to the tracks, and the engineer bearing down on the throttle…There’s a darker day to come…but dark is always followed by the rising, of the Son and sun.

There will still be you, still be me. I’ll pray for you, you for me. We’re invincible, you and I. I’ll hold your torch while you light mine. And collectively, we’ll all light the night, light the hope, light what’s right.
Let’s all find a bit of shelter in one another, ’cause indeed, “it’s a hard rain’s gonna fall…” Matty

 

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