Story Time: The Butterfly

A man found a cocoon of a butterfly.
One day a small opening appeared.
He sat and watched the butterfly for several hours
as it struggled to squeeze its body through the tiny hole.
Then it stopped, as if it couldn’t go further.

So the man decided to help the butterfly.
He took a pair of scissors and
snipped off the remaining bits of cocoon.
The butterfly emerged easily but
it had a swollen body and shriveled wings.
The man continued to watch it,
expecting that any minute the wings would enlarge
and expand enough to support the body,
Neither happened!

In fact the butterfly spent the rest of its life
crawling around.
It was never able to fly.
What the man in his kindness
and haste did not understand:

The restricting cocoon and the struggle
required by the butterfly to get through the opening
was a way of forcing the fluid from the body
into the wings so that it would be ready
for flight once that was achieved.

Sometimes struggles are exactly
what we need in our lives.
Going through life with no obstacles would cripple us.
We will not be as strong as we could have been
and we would never fly.
So have a nice day and struggle a little and teach well.

To Those With Fame

"A celebrity is a person who works hard all of their life to become well known, and then wears dark glasses to avoid being recognized."

To Those With Fame,

I've heard some of you say something in your interviews, about working hard to make it because you "knew" you would someday. You just had this feeling that you were meant to be known, and that's what fueled your journey. Sometimes, I feel like I have the same energy. I can see myself on stage singing. I truly think I can belt out a tune until I try to, and for a moment the energy is gone. I think I can dance- hell, I do every day in front of the mirror and it doesn't look half bad. But there are others that can actually dance, and I just don't compare. When I hear advertisements for talent agencies on the radio, I have daydreams that I, a girl with zero acting experience or instruction, could just show up at one of these events and instantly be recognized as a big star. They would probably laugh at me in real life... or tell me that I should model? No- I'm too short, too big, I untag myself from too many pictures on Facebook. So why do I feel this way, like I should be known, when I have nothing to offer the world? I have dreams of being on the red carpet, seeing my face on TV, being interviewed, and then have to will myself awake and snap back to reality. Is this a real feelings that I should be acting on, or simply a fantasy that most people have? Maybe I'll never know...

Sincerely,

Faith Carter
(I'll practice my autograph just in case.)

Story Time: The Fisherman

Here's a story I liked, just thought I would share it with everyone...

A boat docked in a tiny Mexican village.  An American tourist complimented the Mexican fisherman on the quality of his fish and asked how long it took him to catch them.  “Not very long,” answered the Mexican.  “But then, why didn’t you stay out longer and catch more?” asked the American.  The Mexican explained that his small catch was sufficient to meet his needs and those of his family.  The American asked, “But what do you do with the rest of your time?”  “I sleep late, fish a little, play with my children, and take a siesta with my wife.  In the evenings, I go into the village to see my friends, have a few drinks, play the guitar, and sing a few songs, I have a full life.”  The American interrupted, “I have an MBA from Harvard and I can help you!  You should start by fishing longer every day.  You can then sell the extra fish you catch.  With the extra revenue, you can buy a bigger boat.”  “And after that?” asked the Mexican.  With the extra money the larger boat will bring, you can buy a second one and a third one and so on until you have an entire fleet of trawlers.  Instead of selling your fish to a middle man, you can then negotiate directly with the processing plants and maybe even open your own plant.  You can then leave this little village and move to Mexico City, Los Angeles, or even New York City!  From there you can direct your huge new enterprise.”  “How long would that take?” asked the Mexican.  “Twenty, perhaps twenty-five years,” replied the American.  “And after that?”  “Afterwards?  Well my friend, that’s when it gets really interesting,” answered the American, laughing.  “When your business gets really big, you can start selling stocks and make millions!”  “Millions?  Really?  And after that?” said the Mexican.  “After that you’ll be able to retire, live in a tiny village near the coast, sleep late, play with your children, catch a few fish, take a siesta with your wife and spend your evenings drinking and enjoying your friends.”  And the moral is: Know where you’re going in life you may already be there.

Dear Home

"I'm headed home

Yeah, but I'm not so sure

That home is a place

You can still get to by train"

Dear Home,

For a while, I was swept up in the moment, and had lost you. I was in another place, feeling as though I had been there my whole life. I had to remind myself I had a home, a family, another group of friends. Eight months I have been gone from all that; eight long months. And now I am back, and it's as if everything was put on pause for my absence. Sure there are small changes- a new haircut, a different picture in the frame. But nothing major. It's nice to know that no matter how much I change, there is always a place I can go to that never will. You are my foundation, my identity. Thank you for keeping me grounded.

Love,

Faith

Let It Out Monday

Sent to me by a friend...

The Dream by David Solway

I dreamed that you had ceased to love me-

not that you had come from other beds

back to mine, or gone from mine to others,

just that something in your heart had stopped.

I willed myself awake to find you still

beside me. It was just a dream, I thought,

yet when I turned to kiss you, in your eyes

I saw that you had ceased to love me.

I willed myself awake a second time

to find myself alone, as I have been

these many months, but did not know if it

was terror or relief I felt, and whether

dreams unfold the past or make the future

plain. I dreamed that you had ceased to love me,

and know when I see nothing in your eyes

I can't dream myself awake a third time.

Dear First Love

"I worked so hard for that first kiss, and a heart don't forget something like that. Like an old photograph, time can make a feeling fade. But the memory of a first love never fades away."

Dear First Love,

What is it about you, that always keeps me around? I've tried to forget about you. Ignore you. You were a part of my high school life, and I intended to leave you there. But you didn't give up on me. We could be fighting, but you would still text me every day to see how my day went. Even when I did absolutely nothing to stay in contact with you, you still tried. And now it's been almost three years since we graduated from that hell hole. And you still text me. Tell me you miss me. What does your girlfriend think of this? I wonder if she even knows. You still make me say "I love you" before hanging up the phone. And all this used to annoy me but now, I've just grown to accept it. I think there's a little part in both of us that just can't fully let go- that's what happens when you have one person that you share all your firsts with. First kiss, first real boyfriend, first love... it's as if I can feel the strain keeping us together. This string between each of our hearts, that no matter how far we are away from each other, or how much I try to pretend it's not there, really always is there. And I have a feeling it always will be.

"I love you",

Faith

Dear Journal

"It would be curious to discover who it is to whom one writes in a diary. Possibly to some mysterious personification of one's own identity."

Dear Journal,

I don't write to you. I mean, I have you. And I write in you. But I don't write to you, have you ever noticed that? I just did today... I never say "my life" or "my brother", I say "our life", "our brother". Does that mean I'm a schizo? Haha, no... I think it's because I'm writing to my future self. The person that will be reading it in years to come. Sad that we'll never meet, Past Me and Future Me. And it's not like one day I'll just switch over. I'll morph into her, little by little, throughout the years, until one day I'm reading that same entry and I'll realize- I am her. Hm. Just a thought...

Talk to you later,

Present Fai