Time's Side of Life

Life continues on
Until the moment
It doesn't
Goals & dreams continue
If one is lucky
But one day, one moment
Some day, some moment,
The Ominous Director will say cut.
Your part is finished.
Time for your next assignment,
In the great beyond.

Just Write

Just write. No matter the weather or the mood. Write always. Write with reckless abandon. Write what is not prudent. Write intimately. Let the words flow. Just write. Stop hitting backspace, stop editing while writing. Just write. Let the weeds come up with the chaff or wheat with the chaff and separate at harvest. Just write. Do not think of critics or competition. They do not exist here. Trust your inner voice. Just write. Get it all out, all of the people places and things crowding your brain. Do not worry over what people may think when they see you had all of that in there; in your head? How do you do that? How did you think of that? You got to be a genius or a weirdo or both to think like that. So what? Just write. You can always switch modes later but for now write. Write like you never have written before. Get the books out one word at a time.

Write like there is no book all ready published. You are not competing with your former work even. You are birthing a new thing; new things even. Each is its own entity. Be you and do you; you are the only one who qualifies to do it. Your voice is unique and you matter. Just as each day is unique and fleeting and will never repeat though the date and season will come again… you are one unique person and your time is now.

WISDOM CRIES

An Inspirational Gift of Knowledge & Wisdom From the Good Book
By Devan Brie Green

Wisdom Cries explores simple, profound & timeless truths one can live by. Inside Volume 1 explores the wisdom regarding:
Praise & Worship
Pride & Humility
Reaping & Sowing
Meditation & Prayer
Affirmation & Inspiration

Her Confession on Amazon.com

Excerpt from Her Confession Review by Dimonique Boyd
Her Confession is a book about Ashara Jones, who meets the man of her dreams, not knowing that she is about to enter a physically and emotionally abusive relationship. Now, I have been addicted to the internet for awhile now, so to say I picked her book up and didn't put it down unless I absolutely had to is saying something. It was a great story, and I'm not gonna tell it here. You just need to buy the book. Here are a few things I found INCREDIBLE about the book:
1.) It showed me just how subtle the signs of abuse can be. He started the abuse so smooth that I was floored the first time he hit her. You might think a man is being cute, protective, and jealous, but it's oftentimes a warning sign of abuse. It amazed me that I was sitting here reading the book and I MISSED those signs-just like Ashara did.
2.) I loved that Ashara seemed to still be soul-searching as she told the story. In the midst of telling us what happened to her, she was still gaining understanding about how the situation came to be. That made it that much more real to me.
3.) I pride myself on knowing where the book is going-I never was able to guess what was going to happen next.

In any case, Her Confession was a VERY good read. I actually went home after work, and instead of turning the TV on, I FINISHED it-and that's unheard of for me these days.

Preview or Buy it today on Amazon.com or Kindle
http://www.tinyurl.com/HerConfession

Happy 5 Yr Anniversary!

I just wanted to write a little blog about how happy I am! Tomorrow is my 5 yr Anniversary and I'm shocked 5 yrs went by so fast! I'm thankful to God that my marriage is in tact and has weathered much in that time. It is definitely something to celebrate. I think many people do not understand that you make a choice daily to stay in your marriage. It's not just the day you say, "I do,". It's every day thereafter. Some days are easier than others. But it's always worth it... (at least in my marriage.

In the last 5 yrs we've been through ups and downs, children being born, children acting up, blended family issues, money issues, moving issues, deaths in the family (on his side and on my side several on both sides now that I think about it). But we have also had great times, celebrated holidays, birthdays, anniversaries. We've had wonderful I never thought I'd be this happy times and we've had quiet prayerful I hope we'll get through this times. But through it all we are still here, as one.

He can still make me blush, still give me tingles, still keep me up all night talking. So that's the gift of this time. I have reflected and I thank God for my man and for our marriage.

Samuel's Memory is told by his great-great grandson, Michael Rutledge

Samuel Cloud turned 9 years old on the Trail of Tears. Samuel's Memory is told by his great-great grandson, Michael Rutledge, in his paper Forgiveness in the Age of Forgetfulness. Michael, a citizen of the Cherokee Nation of Oklahoma, is a law student at Arizona State University.

It is Spring. The leaves are on the trees. I am playing with my friends when white men in uniforms ride up to our home. My mother calls me. I can tell by her voice that something is wrong. Some of the men ride off. My mother tells me to gather my things, but the men don't allow us time to get anything. They enter our home and begin knocking over pottery and looking into everything. My mother and I are taken by several men to where their horses are and are held there at gun point. The men who rode off return with my father, Elijah. They have taken his rifle and he is walking toward us.

I can feel his anger and frustration. There is nothing he can do. From my mother I feel fear. I am filled with fear, too. What is going on? I was just playing, but now my family and my friends' families are gathered together and told to walk at the point of a bayonet.

We walk a long ways. My mother does not let me get far from her. My father is walking by the other men, talking in low, angry tones. The soldiers look weary, as though they'd rather be anywhere else but here.

They lead us to a stockade. They herd us into this pen like we are cattle. No one was given time to gather any possessions. The nights are still cold in the mountains and we do not have enough blankets to go around. My mother holds me at night to keep me warm. That is the only time I feel safe. I feel her pull me to her tightly. I feel her warm breath in my hair. I feel her softness as I fall asleep at night.

As the days pass, more and more of our people are herded into the stockade. I see other members of my clan. We children try to play, but the elders around us are anxious and we do not know what to think. I often sit and watch the others around me. I observe the guards. I try not to think about my hunger. I am cold.

Several months have passed and still we are in the stockades. My father looks tired. He talks with the other men, but no one seems to know what to do or what is going to happen. We hear that white men have moved into our homes and are farming our fields. What will happen to us? We are to march west to join the Western Cherokees. I don't want to leave these mountains.

My mother, my aunts and uncles take me aside one day. "Your father died last night," they tell me. My mother and my father's clan members are crying, but I do not understand what this means. I saw him yesterday. He was sick, but still alive. It doesn't seem real. Nothing seems real. I don't know what any of this means. It seems like yesterday, I was playing with my friends.

It is now Fall. It seems like forever since I was clean. The stockade is nothing but mud. In the morning it is stiff with frost. By mid-afternoon, it is soft and we are all covered in it. The soldiers suddenly tell us we are to follow them. We are led out of the stockade. The guards all have guns and are watching us closely. We walk. My mother keeps me close to her. I am allowed to walk with my uncle or an aunt, occasionally.

We walk across the frozen earth. Nothing seems right anymore. The cold seeps through my clothes. I wish I had my blanket. I remember last winter I had a blanket, when I was warm. I don't feel like I'll ever be warm again. I remember my father's smile. It seems like so long ago.

We walked for many days. I don't know how long it has been since we left our home, but the mountains are behind us. Each day, we start walking a little later. They bury the dead in shallow graves, because the ground is frozen. As we walk past white towns, the whites come out to watch us pass. No words are spoken to them. No words are said to us. Still, I wish they would stop staring. I wish it were them walking in this misery and I were watching them. It is because of them that we are walking. I don't understand why, but I know that much. They made us leave our homes. They made us walk to this new place we are heading in the middle of winter. I do not like these people. Still, they stare at me as I walk past.

We come to a big river, bigger than I have ever seen before. It is flowing with ice. The soldiers are not happy. We set up camp and wait. We are all cold and the snow and ice seem to hound us, claiming our people one by one. North is the color of blue, defeat and trouble. From there a chill wind blows for us as we wait by a frozen river. We wait to die.

My mother is coughing now. She looks worn. Her hands and face are burning hot. My aunts and uncles try to take care of me, so she can get better. I don't want to leave her alone. I just want to sit with her. I want her to stroke my hair, like she used to do. My aunts try to get me to sleep by them, but at night, I creep to her side. She coughs and it wracks her whole body. When she feels me by her side, she opens her blanket and lets me in. I nestle against her feverish body. I can make it another day, I know, because she is here.

When I went to sleep last night, my mother was hot and coughing worse than usual. When I woke up, she was cold. I tried to wake her up, but she lay there. The soft warmth she once was, she is no more. I kept touching her, as hot tears stream down my face. She couldn't leave me. She wouldn't leave me.

I hear myself call her name, softly, then louder. She does not answer. My aunt and uncle come over to me to see what is wrong. My aunt looks at my mother. My uncle pulls me from her. My aunt begins to wail. I will never forget that wail. I did not understand when my father died. My mother's death I do not understand, but I suddenly know that I am alone. My clan will take care of me, but I will be forever denied her warmth, the soft fingers in my hair, her gentle breath as we slept. I am alone. I want to cry. I want to scream in rage. I can do nothing.

We bury her in a shallow grave by the road. I will never forget that lonesome hill of stone that is her final bed, as it fades from my sight. I tread softly by my uncle, my hand in his. I walk with my head turned, watching that small hill as it fades from my sight. The soldiers make us continue walking. My uncle talks to me, trying to comfort me. I walk in loneliness.

I know what it is to hate. I hate those white soldiers who took us from our home. I hate the soldiers who make us keep walking through the snow and ice toward this new home that none of us ever wanted. I hate the people who killed my father and mother.

I hate the white people who lined the roads in their woolen clothes that kept them warm, watching us pass. None of those white people are here to say they are sorry that I am alone. None of them care about me or my people. All they ever saw was the color of our skin. All I see is the color of theirs and I hate them.

**I was reading about Cherokee history and found this. (My great-grandmother was a full blooded Cherokee. I have decided to start studying some of my ancestors history. It's a trip to see that this history is the dark and shameful history of the U.S.)

Dreams of Life and Death

I have had many dreams in my 30 yrs on earth. Some were wishful thinking, some inspired by the days events, others borrowed from a movie or TV show I'd seen. But a few stand out and are unforgettable. Some inspire whole books, most yet to be written (but I am working on them and the dreams are burned on my brain). Some of the unforgettable dreams say something about this life and I don't know if I'll figure it out till I meet the Lord in the eternal. I wanted to share another and also strike up a conversation about dreams and interpretations.

So here I'll testify about one of my dreams that stay with me. I had this dream the night after we had hosted a birthday party for my couzin Ashley I believe. Anyway my Uncle Pernell had just been murdered very recently (we had not even had his funeral yet.) My sister and I had picked up his 2 oldest sons and brought them to the party and one of them looks just like him and it was very bittersweet for us to see them that day. The shock and grief of my uncle's murder was upon us.

So after the party late that night I laid down to go to sleep and the room I was in was always too warm. It was like for the rest of that house to heat up that bedroom had to be hot. I laid there and closed my eyes and it seemed like the room cooled down. Then I felt like I was standing in a dark tunnel. I could here a sound like wind whistling or rushing through this tunnel. It was very dark but in the distance I began to see someone, a man coming toward me and then I realized it's my Uncle Pernell. He had on faded light blue jeans a white t-shirt and a teal jacket. The jacket looked worn also and it was the kind of jacket that had a hood tucked away in the collar. The kind you unzip and take out a thin nylon type hood.

My Uncle looked at me solemnly and asked how are y'all doing. I sort of shrugged and told him we were trying to deal. I told him that the family would look after his kids. He thanked me, nodded kind of resolutely and then blended into the darkness. He didn't turn around it was almost like he faded away. Then I was alone in the tunnel, but then something strange happened. I felt rather instantly like I was laying in bed again and in the hot room and I felt the 'weight' of my body whereas in the 'tunnel' I felt light and cool.

I opened my eyes... (rather cautiously; I was a little freaked out) and I looked at the clock and only about 15 mins. had passed. The next day I could not forget the dream. I told my sister and she told me she had a dream (the same night) that my Uncle was in her face and said her name and she freaked out and shook herself awake.

Now when I told my mom, she looked at me as if I was a ghost. My mother was the last of our family to see my uncle before he was killed. He had stopped by her house (she lived a few blocks from his girlfriend's house). He seemed paranoid and talked to her a moment and then went to his girlfriend's house where he ended up being killed within an hour or so. My mom told me that he was wearing what I saw him wearing in my 'dream'. That gave me chills.

So I don't know what it meant for me. Why I 'dreamt' it. I am not sure it was a dream, but I know that dreams had significance even in Bible times. Below is a passage from Genesis 40
Genesis 40 (New International Version)
New International Version (NIV)

Copyright © 1973, 1978, 1984 by International Bible Society
[NIV at IBS] [International Bible Society] [NIV at Zondervan] [Zondervan]

Genesis 40
The Cupbearer and the Baker
1 Some time later, the cupbearer and the baker of the king of Egypt offended their master, the king of Egypt. 2 Pharaoh was angry with his two officials, the chief cupbearer and the chief baker, 3 and put them in custody in the house of the captain of the guard, in the same prison where Joseph was confined. 4 The captain of the guard assigned them to Joseph, and he attended them.
After they had been in custody for some time, 5 each of the two men—the cupbearer and the baker of the king of Egypt, who were being held in prison—had a dream the same night, and each dream had a meaning of its own.

6 When Joseph came to them the next morning, he saw that they were dejected. 7 So he asked Pharaoh's officials who were in custody with him in his master's house, "Why are your faces so sad today?"

8 "We both had dreams," they answered, "but there is no one to interpret them."
Then Joseph said to them, "Do not interpretations belong to God? Tell me your dreams."

9 So the chief cupbearer told Joseph his dream. He said to him, "In my dream I saw a vine in front of me, 10 and on the vine were three branches. As soon as it budded, it blossomed, and its clusters ripened into grapes. 11 Pharaoh's cup was in my hand, and I took the grapes, squeezed them into Pharaoh's cup and put the cup in his hand."

12 "This is what it means," Joseph said to him. "The three branches are three days. 13 Within three days Pharaoh will lift up your head and restore you to your position, and you will put Pharaoh's cup in his hand, just as you used to do when you were his cupbearer. 14 But when all goes well with you, remember me and show me kindness; mention me to Pharaoh and get me out of this prison. 15 For I was forcibly carried off from the land of the Hebrews, and even here I have done nothing to deserve being put in a dungeon."

16 When the chief baker saw that Joseph had given a favorable interpretation, he said to Joseph, "I too had a dream: On my head were three baskets of bread. [a] 17 In the top basket were all kinds of baked goods for Pharaoh, but the birds were eating them out of the basket on my head."

18 "This is what it means," Joseph said. "The three baskets are three days. 19 Within three days Pharaoh will lift off your head and hang you on a tree. [b] And the birds will eat away your flesh."

20 Now the third day was Pharaoh's birthday, and he gave a feast for all his officials. He lifted up the heads of the chief cupbearer and the chief baker in the presence of his officials: 21 He restored the chief cupbearer to his position, so that he once again put the cup into Pharaoh's hand, 22 but he hanged [c] the chief baker, just as Joseph had said to them in his interpretation.

23 The chief cupbearer, however, did not remember Joseph; he forgot him.