It was the back ground of my childhood
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All we have is the now. This is where I live in this moment.
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On the wall to the right, when you enter my sister and my bedroom is a bookcase. I remember sitting on the floor there. The door is a little in the way. There was my favorite book on the bottom shelf. I can see it. I can feel its cover. I had removed the paper cover for it long ago. The pictures are black and white.
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My long hair is pulled back across the front, and is put in a beret. It is my hairstyle every day. My Mom does it for me once a day. We have arrived at Ormond Beach. It is a road that runs alongside the Ohio River outside of Louisville. My Dad and Uncle Paul own a lot there.
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The stream. The rolling sound, moving along past the stones, around the roots fanning out from the big sycamore tree. It births from the three springs just a half mile east. An oasis. The sound of bird song. Different voices, different species. It is music. All different instruments.
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We are what our thoughts are. Thoughts become reality. I am not saying what you don’t all ready know—how many times have we heard those statements? I am not Eckhart Tolle. All I can go on our my own thoughts, and noticing what kind of effect my thinking has.
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