Skip to main content

I Answer to My Soul

 


"If you are waiting for your last years to be pleasant.  Why aren't you living them now?" I asked outloud, rhetorically to an elder person twenty or more years ahead of me.

Dying is not usually, completely pleasant... Neither is living. There are quite few exceptions to both those statements.  If there are, you are either a liar, a con-artist,  or naive... I will take it that 93 percent of you reading this are naive... Why? It is that is the gestimation of the population in America that doesn't think they are actually going to die.

I don't believe in 'bucket-lists'.  That's garbage.  I do things for one reason... it is they move my soul.  And when my soul calls me, I respond... Even if it scares me. You see, I'm not afraid of dying as much as I'm afraid of not answering to my soul. Because when you answer to your soul, then you're living in your purpose. When you deny the call, you are reckoning with a form of being ungrateful. And that is what I'd prefer not to reckon with.

I answer even if the call seems ridiculous,  edgy, or I know people may criticize me for it. I forge ahead, denying the envious, the naysayers,  the friends that become enemies, the 'almost' friends, etc... I deny the people who claim to be psuedo-soothsayers. Like they know it all.  They curse me and my purpose with their ill words and wishes against my soul.  All the while they realize that deep down they despise what they consider as my being more liberated than them.  No, that's not it. It is that they are not my god. I'm not to live to their path, but to my own. To my own, to fulfill my soul's destiny. A destiny each individual soul is to contribute to the world to create more forward human progression.   It is about becoming some form of humanitarian. 

What is good for me, may not be good for many others.  What I eat, what I drink, how I pray,  my activity selection, etc... is no one's but mine. I reckon that and I recognize that. And I know most others do NOT. And that there is the reason for much of the unpeace in the world. ----Jody-Lynn Reicher

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

2023 Holiday Letter from the Reicher's

Well, I didn't think I'd be doing a Holiday Letter this year, but here goes... The Spirit of Norm is in the air. As the wind whips with minus a true snowstorm.  In hopes the Farmers Almanac was correct, I pray to the snow gods. Rain ensued the month of December thus far. We have nearly tripled the amount of rainfall usual for December in New Jersey. And I've witnessed its treachery. Storms such as these hit us hardest in July. Then remained fairly intense through til about early October.  Our daughters are doing well, Thank God.  Their Dad would be proud of them. Our oldest Sarah, now a Junior at UCLA pursuing her degree in Chemical Engineering. She's digging the whole California scene. Which I thought it was for her. She's had some good traveling on her off times from school. For her March 2023 week off, she drove her and a few friends out to Lake Tahoe and went downhill skiing for a first in nearly 5 years. She had to rent the ski equipment.  Funny enough when

Sledging the Hammer

  "You could have a steam trainIf you'd just lay down your tracks..."---Peter Gabriel's 'Sledgehammer' lyrics. This is not the tune that lay in my mind this morning as I reminisced about yesterday's volunteers to help on trail crew.    However, as I looked up the proper definition of sledging that song popped up. I say sledging, which is my own take on swinging a hammer that we call a "Double Jack". The Single Jack is six pounds. I know that because our regular crew of five including me and one staff supervisor are handling Harriman State Park Trails, and have to carry about four of those, two shaping hammers, along with a hoist, belay bag with heavy equipment, first aid kit, double Jack, three 18lb rock bars, a lopper, three buckets, three eye to eyes, two burlap straps, two green wrapping straps, two pick Mattox, a roe hoe or two, a bar for either the two ton or one ton hoist, the feathers with pegs for splitting rocks that we drill... s

Maybe It's About Love

Maybe I just don't get it... "...My father sits at night with no lights on..."---Carly Simon  In my male-dominant mind. Dr. Suess-ish sing-songy "...go go go go on an adventure..." (George Santos' escapades gave me permission to use "ish".) I'd been accused of not being detailed enough in my writing. as my writer friend, Caytha put it to me now near twenty years ago. I knew she was correct. It's gotten a lot better, a whole bunch better. But the writing of sex scenes... Well... I'll need Caytha for that.  "...his cigarette glows in the dark..."---Carly Simon  Even my husband Norman could have written the simple sex scenes better than I, that I currently need in my script. And he was not a writer, but a math oriented thinker. Ala carte he was a nurturing romantic. And a sort of romantic Humphrey Bogart to his Ingrid. Otherwise, I won't go into details there. I'll let the mature audiences use their imagination. I am so