Jonathan Livingston Seagull

“They are saying in the Flock that if you are not the Son of the Great Gull Himself”, Fletcher told Jonathan one morning after Advanced Speed Practice, “then you are a thousand years ahead of your time.”
Jonathan sighed. The price of being misunderstood he thought. They call you devil or they call you god. “What do you think, Fletch? Are we ahead of our time?”
A long silence, “Well, this kind of flying has always been here to be learned by anyone who wanted to discover it; that’s got nothing to do with time. We’re ahead of the fashion, maybe. Ahead of the way that most gulls fly.”“That’s something,” Jonathan said, rolling to glide inverted for a while. “That’s not half as bad as being ahead of our time”.
Richard Bach
Jonathan Livingston Seagull

The Seagull Speaks Creative Commons Copyright


Creative Commons License
Original work on The Seagull Speaks by Michael A Wride is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivs 3.0 Unported License.

Saturday, December 22, 2012

Space

Image from http://en.paperblog.com/valentine-s-day-gift-from-space-8052/

You are right to give yourself the gift of space,
To allow yourself to open up to the possibilities,
Present within the breeze that flows through you,
Allowing you to fulfill your destiny,
And filling your soul with joy. 








Thursday, December 20, 2012

From Disiderata

   
Image from http://www.spacelapse.net/en/Astrophotography/The-tree-and-the-stars.html
 
"Beyond a wholesome discipline,
be gentle with yourself.
You are a child of the universe
no less than the trees and the stars;
you have a right to be here.
And whether or not it is clear to you,
no doubt the universe is unfolding as it should."

From Disiderata
by Max Ehrmann
http://www.fleurdelis.com/desiderata.htm



Sunday, December 2, 2012

What Dreams are These?




Walking alone on the moors,
With the wind in a word of wonder.
Why?
What dreams are these that hang in the air like clouds?
Broken up by a few rays of sunlight,
Shining through rain drops,
Making a rainbow,
Gripping a hand, 
Pulling on fingers,
Dancing in palms,
Outstretched to the blooming sky,
Above the trees,
Through the air,

On rocks,
Hard,
As rain falling on spring flowers.

A damp day,
Inside a cave,
Looking out on heaven,
Below me. 



Written April 20, 1997
When visiting the Somerset levels -
A special place for me
Where I grew up.