No Rain & Kindle

I was pleasantly surprised recently when Hubby gave me a Kindle Fire for our anniversary. It's definitely not something I would have thought of buying for myself. I had no idea it did so many things. (Side note: Angry Birds is definitely addictive)

I am enjoying it very much so far, and have been going through my MP3 music files; selecting favorites and copying them to a folder so I can transfer them to the Kindle. (Which reminds me that it's about time to update my playlist again)

When I got to this song it struck me as a nice one to share. It's one of my favorite Blind Melon tunes. I figure most music fans have heard it. I might be somewhat of a B-side kinda gal, and this is definitely A-side, but it's a great song and I love the lyrics.

"No Rain"




2008 Posts with Videos

The Bustling Blind

you bustling world
how completely aloof
you who require canes
to navigate the pathways

no not even that
for to move as the blind
you first must know
that you cannot see

more than this
and more than deaf
for there is no music
no beat of the drum
to time your steps
not in your world

you are ever unaware
that you miss a thing


Rachelle LeCount
Feb 13 2012

The River

A beautiful yet somewhat haunting song by Dan Fogelberg



I was born by a river rolling past a town
Given no direction...just told to keep my head down
As I took my position, a man fired a gun
I was so steeped in tradition I could not run
I was raised by a river weaned upon the sky
And in the mirror of the waters I saw myself learn to cry
As the tears hit the surface I saw what had been done
I gave feet to my freedom and I did run
Someday later I saw the writing in the dust
It told me how I should travel
It told me who I was
I ran far from the river...far as I could see
And as the sun hit my shoulders, I felt it burning me
How I longed for the waters as the fire raged
How I longed for the river as I aged
I will die by a river as it rolls away
Bury me in the nighttime...do not waste the day
High above the waters that roll on to the sea
All the angels in heaven will laugh at me
They will laugh at me....they will laugh at me
They will laugh at me
My life was naught but a river rolling through my brain
Made of so many teardrops...made of so much pain


Other posts that include Fogelberg: Here

Youtube links to a few Dan Fogelberg tunes:

To the Morning
Scarecrow's Dream
Run for the Roses
Souvenirs
Since You've Asked

Easy to Do

An excerpt from this morning's journal entry.

--------------------------------

it was a simple task at the time
dividing clouds with beams of light
that shot from our finger tips
or to be the first to set foot
on that far globe near the warm wet cave
where there was no need of slats and boards
in order to glide through air
or float atop waves and ride tides
so easy a thing it was
to connect the stars like dots
that only spirits ever see
yet more difficult to remember
since it was all before we were born

Rachelle LeCount


Moments of Choice
Barring the Way
Outside the Window

Head Lumps & Coconuts

I've been reading from the book "The Song of the Bird" by Anthony de Mello. There's a short story about a man and a monkey. The monkey threw a coconut from a tree and hit the man on the head to taunt him. But the man took the coconut and drank the milk, ate the meat and from the rest, made a bowl.

I personally would like to thank all the monkeys who threw coconuts from the trees I've walked under thus far in my life.

I may have received a few lumps on the head. And some I probably deserved. Nonetheless, I've managed to have something to drink and something to eat and I have accumulated a good many bowls.

So, Thanks for the coconuts.

Signed,
Rachelle

P.S.

I suppose I should also confess that I, myself, am sometimes the monkey. I freely admit it.

To those at whom I personally have hurled the occasional coconut.... You're welcome.

:)

Dream Reality

Thoughts and visions during the night; sights and sounds in slumber. These supposed imaginings and horrors- why do we call them dreams? In doing so, have we made them less real? Do we diminish their significance in considering them mere involuntary manifestations?

I often wonder if indeed they are vibratory remnants of cosmic memories, having more substance than we care to permit ourselves to accept.

Upon waking, they are already imprinted in our own memory. Their existence is real and actual, even should they be only visual representations of unconscious thoughts and ideas.


Rachelle LeCount

[I may be reworking this at a later date, as is sometimes the case. Or perhaps adding to it later. Maybe. We'll see.]






I'll close this post with some thoughts from Evelyn Underhill (I love reading her).


“All men, at one time or another, have fallen in love with the veiled Isis whom they call Truth. With most, this has been a passing passion: they have early seen its hopelessness and turned to more practical things. But others remain all their lives the devout lovers of reality: though the manner of their love, the vision which they make to themselves of the beloved object varies enormously. Some see Truth as Dante saw Beatrice: an adorable yet intangible figure, found in this world yet revealing the next. To others she seems rather an evil but an irresistible enchantress: enticing, demanding payment and betraying her lover at the last. Some have seen her in a test tube, and some in a poet’s dream: some before the altar, others in the slime. The extreme pragmatists have even sought her in the kitchen; declaring that she may best be recognized by her utility. Last stage of all, the philosophic sceptic has comforted an unsuccessful courtship by assuring himself that his mistress is not really there.”

- Evelyn Underhill, Mysticism

Other posts:
Pegs & Holes
Wishing for Sidewalks

Dust Bowl

Joe Bonamassa... what can I say. He's an excellent guitarist and blues artist. His "Dust Bown" release of March 2011 is pretty good. I don't think I've posted any tunes from that album yet. Excellent stuff.

Take me away, Joe... :)

"The Last Matador of Bayonne"
(track 7)





"Pioneer"
(track 12)





So... I wonder what was I up to this time last year?
February 2011 posts

Or 2 years ago?
February 2010 posts

How about 3 years ago? Just for the heck of it.
February 2009 posts

Now. On with my day. It's going to be a long one.

Secrets at Dawn

This morning I feel like sharing a poem by Rumi. It was one of the first of his poems that I read many years ago. It's short but sweet and deep. Or at least, to me it is.

---------------------------------------------------

The breeze at dawn has secrets to tell you.

Don't go back to sleep.

You must ask for what you really want.

Don't go back to sleep.

People are going back and forth across the doorsill

where the two worlds touch.

The door is round and open.

Don't go back to sleep.

From Essential Rumi

Crafts & Things

So far, for the most part, this blog has just been a place to periodically share things I've written over the years, or things I've rewritten from old ideas, along with the occasional reporting of vacation escapades or note here and there on different topics that have my interest on a given day. However, I might consider sharing more of my journeys as I try new projects.

Right now I'm attempting to learn to knit on a loom. It's not quite as simple as making a rug. And I have little-to-no previous knitting experience in the traditional sense. But the loom knitting looks like it might be fun and a change from having to sit at the sewing machine or at a table.

I recently became interested in a site called Pinterest. There are tons of ideas for all types of craft and sewing projects, techniques, gift making ideas and even recipes.

I do plan to try some of the things I've seen and 'pinned' to my 'boards.

We'll see how it all goes.

Here's a very nice article on natural ways to get rid of pests. Or at least discourage them. From moles to deer to snails. Lots of helpful solutions for the yard and garden.

35 Pest and Disease Remedies
by Sharon Lovejoy

Another Rug

I finally finished my 2nd rug project. I got a lot of satisfaction out of making this. However, the next time, I'll know to make my beginning chain a lot longer, as I was going for something more oblong.
















You can see part of my braided rug project HERE

Abstractions

This goes along with something I posted a few days ago.

[Words of My Heart]

What are words anyway, if they are not abstract in themselves? For this they are.

My words, to the analytical mind, are not impossible to understand. The meaning is hidden in plain sight. Yet not hidden. They are seen by the eyes of the soul and heard with the ears of the heart. The reason for this, is because that is the place from which they arise. It is their true home.

So, as we ourselves might understand the term 'earth bound misfit', this is also true of the stirrings within my heart and spirit. Their aches and pains. Their triumphs and pleasures.

If my spirit is of another place and time, why not so with the words of that spirit that is within me. Or no... not within me, but that which I am?

Rachelle LeCount
January 2012

You might also like:
My Name is Diaphanous
Outside My Window

Pregnant Onion & Ginseng Root

I was showing a friend some snapshots of a few of my favorite houseplants and figured I'd post a few here.















The above is Ginseng Root. I'm supposing it's a sort of miniature or bonsai, but I'm not entirely sure. I found it at Walmart, nearly dead, marked down to around a dollar. Or it might have been less. I put it in a fresh pot of soil and nursed it back to health. I think it's pretty cool.

This next shot if of a very old Pregnant Onion. There are two in the picture but one (the larger of the two) was part of a potted arrangement of mixed succulents from something like 15-16 years ago. Or more. A long time anyway. It almost died on several occasions but I managed to revive it and finally one of its babies took root and has been growing alongside it.




























I'm definitely no expert when it comes to houseplants but I do very much enjoy having them around. I've never quite felt like home is home without some houseplants and at least one of something living in water - fish or turtles.

Now, I'll share a song by Dan Fogelberg. It doesn't have to do with houseplants in a direct sort of way but it's a tender song about the earth and living creatures.

"A Cry in the Forest"



(About Mother Earth and all of it's gentle creatures)

There`s a cry in the forest, it`s feathered and brown
And it echoes off of nothing as the trees come down
It`s the sound of a sparrow hittin` the ground
It`s the sound of one eternity bound
It`s the sound of one eternity bound

There`s a cry in the oceans, it`s plaintive and blue
And it rises from the depths, breaks my heart in two
It`s the dreams of the great whales running aground
For they know that they`re eternity bound
For they know that they`re eternity bound

Whoa eternity bound
Once they`ve passed into the timeless, they can never more be found
Is there anybody listening, tell me can you hear the sound
Of the gentle ones eternity bound
Of the gentle ones eternity bound

There`s a cry in the heart of every woman and man
We`ve been crying in the darkness since the world began
Will we ever seek forgiveness, will we ever earn the crown
Or are we in turn eternity bound
Or are we in turn eternity bound

Whoa eternity bound
Once we`ve past into the timeless, we can never more be found
Is there anybody listening, tell me can you hear the sound
Of the lonely ones eternity bound
Of the lonely ones eternity bound
Of the lonely ones eternity bound

J J Cale

I'll just post some music today.

Enjoy.

The Words of My Heart

The words of my heart, are droplets that fall upon linen.
They are the tears of rainbows and the twinkling eyes of the stars.
They are splashes of pleas and dotted lines that connect my soul with eternity.
They are love, splattered across a canvas wall.
They are questions that melt like wax crayons heated by the sun.
They are photographs, framed slightly askew.
They are as a cork released from the bottle it seals.
They are the colors of an artists pallet, swirled together, not yet one.
They are the chiseling of the sculptor, revealing what is hidden beneath.
They are the scents in a garden of many flowers.
They are blood and breath. They are water against stone.
These are the words of my heart.

Rachelle LeCount
January 16, 2012

You also might like these posts:
Know
Leala's Refuge
Mystics & Watchers
The Reader

Braided Rug Project

I decided to teach myself how to make a hand braided rag rug. Here it is so far. I still have a good bit to go, but it's looking nice for a first try.