“One of the greatest hindrances in coming to Jesus is the excuse of temperament. We make our temperament and our natural affinities barriers to coming to Jesus. The first thing we realize when we come to Jesus is that He pays no attention whatever to our natural affinities. We have the notion that we can consecrate our gifts to God. You cannot consecrate what is not yours; there is only one thing you can consecrate to God, and that is your right to yourself (Romans 12:1). If you will give God your right to yourself, He will make a holy experiment out of you. God’s experiments always succeed” – Oswald Chambers
It would be false to paint tranquility. A woman's world is one of complexity. Phrased in its phases, it takes a distortionist. To be a woman is to be a contortionist.
In the push-and-pull world of always there, It's plain to see there is a lot to fear. But one must always paint a smile even when moody. To do otherwise, would be to act rudely.
To be a woman is to show suitable restraint In the live-a-day world filled with constraints. Even in maturity, the world demands she's wild, Mixing guilt and innocence as a forever child.
Always pushing for a commitment to individuality, She has to give in to the demands of femininity. The moments of a woman's day lead to entanglement, A splash of fantasy helps keep the engagement.
So much of the conformity is plainly staged ruse. The clothes worn are at times socialized abuse. With painted faces, only the bodies tell it all. Fascination and repulsion concert in response and call.
To be a woman is to show suitable restraint In the live-a-day world filled with constraints. Even in maturity, the world demands she's wild, Mixing guilt and innocence as a forever child.
Patterns collected become images meant for hooking The viewer's eyes to always be forever looking. This false sense of self becomes a woman's identity, Disguised as it is the shape of divine femininity.
A woman's life has its sincere moments of stark clarity. She sees herself in others always seeking after sincerity. Her life's symphony plays as a tune quite ill at ease She reflects in a mirror doomed to want very much to please.
To be a woman is to show suitable restraint In the live-a-day world filled with constraints. Even in maturity, the world demands she's wild, Mixing guilt and innocence as a forever child.
... as one small soul who wants it all....
(c) May 31, 2025 Michael Doyle All Rights Reserved
Sitting around with my eyes dilated For hours, wishing I was a sedated It leaves time to think and daydream. The universe expands at its seams.
Stark pen scratches on a blank page Drives the thoughts of the seeking sage. New thoughts lead to shocking queries, Expanding to questions into a series.
From a void filled only with dark, A singularity became the primal spark. From a single point came the vastness, Infinity invokes this awesomeness.
From seeming fragments came the unity That mankind would worship as divinity. Creation was born from the universal expansion That became the heavens of God's mansion.
A silent scream broke the first sacred heart. This was the coming of man from his start. Stretching fabric to find love in strange places, In the Garden, came new patterns of embraces.
The silence of dark energy filled the spaces. The emptiness forms the legacy of angelic faces. Celestial bodies dance all the colors of trance Whenever they are given a semblance of chance.
Light and darkness blend into cold equilibrium Feverish in the dreams of those living delirium. Like leaves on a cosmic wind, frozen moments of time Whisper the secrets from somewhere beyond the sublime.
With all these hints of a grand somethingness, Does it really come down to a thin gruel of nothingness? A widening of cracks and ticking of clocks leads the blind To where? And what is that humanity will find?
(c) May 30, 2025 Michael Doyle All Rights Reserved
“Remember not only to say the right thing in the right place, but far more difficult still, to leave unsaid the wrong thing at the tempting moment.” – Benjamin Franklin
“To love at all is to be vulnerable. Love anything and your heart will be wrung and possibly broken. If you want to make sure of keeping it intact you must give it to no one, not even an animal. Wrap it carefully round with hobbies and little luxuries; avoid all entanglements. Lock it up safe in the casket or coffin of your selfishness. But in that casket, safe, dark, motionless, airless, it will change. It will not be broken; it will become unbreakable, impenetrable, irredeemable. To love is to be vulnerable.” – C.S. Lewis
In and out of our lives, we hear Those thoughts around us that persevere. Pushing and prodding us with possibility, And we gravitate toward what has plausibility.
There are no promises, only process. We take our nibbles here and there to test. Hoping to find our dreams and not make a mess, We reach out and are always hoping for the best.
Photographs breed their sets of memories, All the moments spent with our loves and families. We may not know the depth of experience, But we document these things in deference.
Life is made to love and to travel. Dreams are made to be caught as we are able. But mostly, life best lived is to simply live, Taking from it all the best that life can give.
Like jazz, life is a constant flow of improvisation To be lived in just the right pocket of fascination. Images ricochet with their perfect syncopation. We voyage without necessarily knowing our destination.
Acting as if living moment by moment Allows us to feel what we do, be it joy or torment. We do what we do with every sense of validity While knowing our degree of control has zero possibility
Of working out precisely as we actually mean. This is the lost of life as a human being. We pass through all of this within degrees of attention, Sometimes in the manner of habit, sometimes in intention.
I hesitate to mention this inclination toward hesitation, But so much of life amounts to an endless question. Somewhere in the middle of all these chaotic bits of action Is that point that we call it our satisfaction.
(c) May 29, 2025 Michael Doyle All Rights Reserved
“The best index to a person’s character is (a) how he treats people who can’t do him any good, and (b) how he treats people who can’t fight back.” —Abigail Van Buren
Heading out of Australia to escape this Aussie winter. First stop Japan, then UK/Ireland and if work doesn't call me back, onto Chicago. I will make it up as I go along
