Short @ MindSay

                                                    “Shining in the Dark of Night”
                                                           By Jason Tzintzun


The night went as follows.
   
    The air was cold, the kind of cold that sends shivers down not only your back, but every part of your body. Nothing could be heard for miles and miles except the soft whips of fires across the destroyed city, eating anything that they could to stay alive. Each fire found a place to call home amongst the beds of rubble and blankets of dust that littered the entire area.
    The sky above was no more welcoming than was the wasteland on the ground. Black, menacing clouds stood watch over the earth, guarding what was left of a once beautiful planet from escaping its lifeless prison. The fires below begged and pleaded softly to their merciless “protectors” for something, anything to keep them alive as their spark would dim slower and slower and slower until their glow of life had ran out.
    It is not clear where this happened, but on this night the soft whips of fires that filled the cold air was interrupted by cautious footsteps through the rubble. The footsteps belonged to a young boy. The boy was quite dirty. His pants were torn on both knees, revealing large amounts of dried blood from countless falls he had taken in the opposite direction he was heading. His face, as well as the rest of his body and hair, was covered with dirt and dust that also covered the rest of the world.However, the boy gave off a strange light that nothing, not even the burning fires amongst him, could. He continued walking slowly and pensively amongst the devastation, following his light rather than the fires that beaconed  him to come closer, hoping to extinguish the light he had so that they could stay alive.
    As the boy walked, he looked around at what had become of such a beautiful land. Where green grass and trees had once lived and thrived, fields of stone and fire now ruled and conquered. What had his people done? Why had they constantly needed more? More land. More houses. More buildings. More technology. More weapons to “protect” their land. He shook his head and stared at the ground as he continued to walk through the rubble.
    The further that the boy walked, the colder his body would get and the dimmer that the light within him would shine. The fires around him no longer gave off soft whips, but were now crackling and growing more furious, urging him to get close so that he would shine as bright and be as warm as them. At times, the boy would take a step or two toward one of the pleading fires, but he would always look back toward the path he had left and would return to keep walking toward the invisible goal he had in mind.
    Just as the boy’s light seemed to almost be non-existent now, he heard a disturbance in the stones ahead of him. At once, his hopeful eyes darted forward toward the sound. Standing no more than three yards ahead of him was a young girl. The boy’s strange light now burned more brightly and intensely than all the fires around him. His footsteps turned into a sprint as he saw the girl, throwing his caution into the non-existent wind. When he was no more than two feet from the girl, the boy tripped and fell to his knees, causing his knees to pick up the bleeding where the dried blood left off.
    The young girl walked the two feet that remained between her and the young boy. As she looked down at him, she smiled and slowly extended her hand. The boy stared at the small, dusty hand that was extended to him and wrapped his hand around it.
Once he was back on his feet, the young girl asked, “How did you know?”
The young boy replied with a smile, “I didn’t.”
The girl smiled as well and held onto his hand tighter, “Don’t ever let go. Promise me.”
He held on as tight as he could and stared into her eyes, “Never. I kept my last promise and I’m keeping this one.”
    They walked together hand in hand and laid down amongst the beds of rubble and blankets of dust. Their eyes were turned upward, watching the black, looming clouds as they patrolled the skies.
The young girl turned toward the young boy and asked, “What do you think will happen?”
He turned toward her and smiled, “I don’t know. But we’ll find out together.”
    They remained there amongst the beds of rubble and blankets of dust. They did not plead or beg to their “protectors” for something to keep them alive, to keep their fires burning and shining. They did not need anything, for they had all that they needed to keep burning, to stay alive. Even as they were welcomed into the sky by their watchful Protector, the spark between the young boy and the young girl did not dim, it grew larger and larger and larger until their glow of life shined brighter than all the fires in the world combined.


                                                                       THE END

by Julie Hryniewicz-Hache

The fact that you are reading these words means that you are part of a very unique group of individuals. Whether you are an officer, the loved one of an officer, or someone who is employed or involved in any capacity in this industry, you probably understand the deep impact of the policing culture on your life. Policing is now in your blood and will forever change the way that you see the world.

 

Although I pulled the pin on my policing career, after only eight years on the force, it was news that a former co-worker of mine had ended own his life, that reminded me how we are all still connected. Hearing this type of information affects every one of us, whether we know the person or not. It causes us to reflect on our own lives and is a perfect opportunity to reestablish our priorities for our brief time on this earth.

 

READ ON

http://www.police-writers.com/articles/hache_life_too_short.html

I have found an English subtitled and English language version of Geert Wilders’ Movie Short Fitna at the Exposing Islam blog. Whatever you think about Wilders’ politics as to place on the political pole – Rightwing or fringe Rightwing – Fitna utilizes the words, pictures, sound bytes and film excerpts of what Islamic people holy men following the Quran.

 

Global Islam (radical and so-called moderate) has worked hard to squelch this Movie Short to be broadcast on television. Islamic pressure even pressured Wilders’ webhost to not allow Fitna to be shown under its ISP. It will be interesting how long LiveLeak will allow having Fitna shown since the West seems to be dhimmified into petrification at the complaint of Islamic organizations in the West and in the Middle East.

 

Fitna was put together under the sponsorship of a Dutch citizen however it is a Wake-up America, nay a Wake-up World moment. Wake-up for Islam is using victimization as an excuse to curb Freedom of Speech. Republican Representative Peter Hoekstra has made this clear in his opinion about how Islam threatens the Constitutional Right of Freedom of Speech in America. Insults and critical speech has been allowed against questionable faiths that are more like cults and political ideologies from the Left and the Right in America for quite some time. It has only at the cry of Islamophobia (i.e. the accusation of hate speech) by Islamic organizations as well as domestic and foreign mullahs and imams has Freedom of Speech has been criticized.

 

What is the worry of the West and Freedom of Speech critical of Islam? It is the dhimmified fear of global rioting and violence by the so-called religion of peace when offense is taken. Our modern sense of political correctness has allowed the criticism of Christianity, Judaism, Capitalism, Communism, Nazism, Democracy and other faiths. Yet when the potential of malicious violence looms at criticism of Islam the West slinks under a rock rather than stand for hard fought principles of Democracy and Liberty.

 

AGAIN I SAY, “WAKE-UP!’

 

LIVELEAK VERSION. (I had to hit refresh to get the page to come up on my browser.)

 

For those who have been following my blog, this I tell you guys keeps my pen feverishly working overtime – thank you for being there and making it all worthwhile, you all know what happened in December last year. My family lost a husband and father to diabetes complications. He was only 63.

 

Life indeed is not a bed of roses no matter how hard you work at it to make it so. Yes, you may get comfy and content sometimes happy for awhile but round the corner life will rear its ugly head seize you down and try to keep you there.

 

Is that a pessimistic view of life I’m taking? Not really. I’ve written so much on positivity and a can-do attitude towards life that being pessimistic so suddenly is quite absurd. But it is a realistic view of life ---as presented by life itself.

 

If indeed life isn’t a ‘bed of roses’, where therefore shall I plant my --- Rose Garden?

 

If life does not promise me joy and happiness, where therefore shall I search or go looking for that?

 

There hadn’t been many a time in the history of this old lady here (yea, I’ll be 62 in June) where I would wish to stay forever in utter bliss. To make a long story short, the rough beaten path or the so-called road less traveled (not the book) was the one laid out for me to journey through. I’ve got scars to show for having gone that way – in the mind, heart, and soul.

 

And another one, this time a bigger one, bruised me deep last December.

 

Looking back at all that transpired then now pins my heart down with a heaviness ---one which I think would take awhile to lift off and cast away. But they say that part of healing is going back to the pain, come to terms with it and then resolutely move towards bringing that chapter of one’s life to a close.

Going back to those difficult times of our lives always brings tears to our eyes—my eyes. My family and I miss many things of the family we once were with him. It was not a perfect family we knew that, in fact it had more rugged hills or steep mountains or deep valleys which took us careening wildly after every bout with it… but it was a family, our family. So when we saw the trend he was taking with his health condition which took him in and out of hospitals at short intervals through that year, we sensed a foreboding that something rough and tough was waiting up ahead. I was scared for my family.

 

And it came. It began in November and ended in his final days of December. He died on December 9 and we buried him on the 14^th.

 

With him gone, a void took his place in our life – an empty space, an empty place… and

 

… a new set of FIRSTS.

 

-                     Our first Christmas without him

-                     Our first New Year celebration without him

-                     Celebrating his birthday without him

-                     Our first weekend bonding without him

-                     Our first Family birthdays to be celebrated without him

-                     Our first Palm Sunday without him with his usual purchase of a blessed palm frond

-                     Our first Bisita Iglesia on Maundy Thursday without him leading the prayers with us

-                     Our first Easter Sunday without him in church with us

-                     Our first summer without him

-                     My first wedding anniversary without him

-                     And several more FIRSTS as life moves us along without him

 

 

But as a wise God has so arranged it magnificently… I have found my seeds now for my Rose Garden. Oh yes, it’s there on that list of firsts.

 

Seeds of…

 

-                     Family

-                     Closeness

-                     Love

-                     Faith

-                     Strength

-                     Hope

-                     Resilience

-                     Grit

-                     Spirit

-                     Laughter

-                     Courage

-                     Guts

-                     Compassion

-                     Kindness

-                     Care

-                     Bond

-                     Friendship

-                     Loyalty

-                     Devotion

-                     And even more new seeds are sprouting with each day, I can see.

 

 

This month, the third month after December, my Rose Garden will be planted. I have all the seeds I need and even more. One day soon those precious seeds nurtured and loved will transform into gorgeous blossoms of life and living. And from these my happiness will grow.

 

May God bless my Rose Garden.

When I pitch a jealous fit...it's not really my fault...it's just evolution. Nice to have a good excuse besides just being a bee-atch...

 

Short people are most prone to jealousy, say scientists