Memories Are My Enemy

By: Monica Pana

I want to let a desire with minimal intensities to master me, thinking that I will not be led by my mind. I want to let the time follow its path without me in its way, but I let the past determine my future without knowing why.

I want to feel any feeling. Because when you feel something, it is more than an emotion, it’s a proof that you’re human.

I’m sick of everything I ever thought that can grieve me. I never thought that the greatest joy is the greatest sadness. That what I love will destroy me faster than people… I never thought that memories are the greatest enemy of mine.

Things are changing and everything goes away and you wait, but you don’t ever know what or when it will come. Why would everything you want come to you? How can you afford to have everything when you really don’t know what you want?

We are born with desires, we die with hopes. Hope dies the last, but we die hoping. Is there any reason to hope when you know you hope in vain? And when everything you do is against you? All you can do is to say “sad” and to go on with your gaze forward and your heart behind.

Note: The copyrights on the article belong to the author. The responsibility for the opinions expressed in the article belongs exclusively to the author. Please visit her site, look around! to read more of Monica’s fine work!

What’s the Point to Love the Past?

By: Monica Pana

mopana-you-will-miss-today-01You’ll miss the emotions which impressed you. Emotions which once were strange to you and whose meaning was a mystery to you. Tough or not, every day has a unique beauty that teaches you to appreciate what you have without feeling selfish because you want it all for yourself. Maybe you will miss the smile you had today, maybe you’ll miss the spilled tears and the inside struggle that oscillates between mind and heart.
But what’s the point to love the past? After all, it is a place, a time when you’ve been already and you can no longer get it back. There is no reason to think of that… Yet, it is worth it. Because the past is all you already outlined. It is the drawing already done that you will carry with you until the end of the world. The value of a moment is measured in the intensity of an emotion and your value has a cost in time. It’s not just the fact that you can see this over the years, but it can be felt thru the emanated emotions that arise because of the triggers. 
Anyway, whatever you do, you must create memories every day! To have what to tell, to learn, to live!

Note: Photograph courtesy of Google Images. The copyrights on the article belong to the author. The responsibility for the opinions expressed in the article belongs exclusively to the author. Please visit her site, look around!to read more of Monica’s fine work!

As the Winter Wind Winds



As the snow flies winter has finally arrived. The cold winter winds howl through the long blistery nights. It is now the season of joy and jubilee. But, it is also a time for reverence, peace and harmony. In a world that is around so many things are wrong but as they say time marches on we must move past what is really going on.

Bears are beginning to hibernate but along with the winter chill there is always the warmth of the hearth where flames burn bright. They cast their spell bringing memories to light. As I gaze into the flames more images appear. Long lost loves whose memories I still hold dear.

Through-out my life those puppy love romances we always have gave way to more passionate affairs. The innocence of youth disappeared when her hair came undone when I was 21. Some one would say that the years that followed I was either cursed or blessed. The women in my life many brought me to tears. I still think I was fortunate indeed for not once in my life but three times flames of desire burned bright through the years.

The bittersweet moments when the embers grow cold always left me out in the cold. The loneliness and solitude that often followed only strengthened my resolve. Holding my head up high always against the wind, not looking back but aiming straight ahead enabled me to move forward with each passing year. Now, that the days are getting shorter with the winter wind sending a chill through the air I rest easy in my old familiar chair. The fire in the hearth burns as bright as ever only heightens those precious memories of all those moments where flames of desire were so sweet and dear.

To think back if I did things differently the possibilities are endless of what could have been. But, as they say hindsight is just a young mans game. I have come to terms and made peace with myself. For all those could have been’s they never really did matter. For what it is worth Frank Sinatra couldn’t have said it better I have always done things “My Way.”

As the fire burns bright on this winters night I still look back with great fondness and joy. The flames of desire have never really ebbed. Those honey toned lips with perfume to match have always lingered through the years. That one great love so long ago when I was 21 with hair jet black and eyes so blue was the first of three great loves so true. Now that time has past and the winter wind blows memories of those great loves like the fire in the hearth still burn bright as ever giving warmth to the soul.

Note: The copyrights on the article belong to the author. The responsibility for the opinions expressed in the article belongs exclusively to the author.

Reminiscence: Grandpa Eads and the End of the World

By: Jonathan Noble

Grandpa Eads, my mother’s father, whom she always affectionately called “daddy,” was a strong man. A carpenter by trade, his features were rugged and his hands calloused; interestingly enough, however, even though he had spent most of his life outdoors, he was as pale-skinned as any Norseman crawling out from under a mountain of snow in the dead of winter! He burned very easily; never tanned (so far as I remember).

I don’t know exactly how old he was when I was born, but he was old. Not as old as Grandma Noble. She was born in 1890 and, so, was already 80 years-old when I entered the world. Grandpa must have been in his sixties, at least, given the fact that my mother was 39 (almost 40) years-old when she birthed me. Not that it matters that much. Grandpa lived younger than his actual age up until the last few months of his life, really.

He taught me to drive a nail when he and dad, Greg and Mr. Emfinger built the “barn” on our 20 acres in the country, just outside Headland. (Mr. Emfinger stands out in my mind because he wore glasses with two different colored lenses.) Grandpa also taught me to play horseshoes, which remains one of my all-time favorite outdoor activities … even though I don’t get to play very much.

He certainly had his hand in teaching me to fish. Dad did, too, but he was always so busy and never seemed to have a lot of time. We fished quite often in Old Mussy Creek, which was about a 15-minute walk from his little house at Camp Abel, two to three miles from our 20 acres ~ christened Noble Acres ~ where we made our home when I was about 10 or 11-years-old.

There was something else Grandpa contributed to my life not nearly as fun as playing horseshoes and fishing, or as practical as knowing how to drive a nail, either: Despondency in the future of this world. Hopelessness. Futility. Waiting for the “rapture” in prayerful expectation, all the while looking (and discussing) the “signs of the times.” This old world was quite literally going to hell, according to Grandpa.

Being able to look around the world for signs, and knowing what they meant and what would happen was kind of exciting. My own future in this deteriorating, death-ridden, already-damned world was not very promising, though, and I found myself wondering what reason there could be for me to think about doing anything. I certainly could not make any lasting contribution, any positive difference … unless, maybe, I became an evangelist, pulling as many “brands from the burning” as possible before the end.

Grandpa never got raptured ~ that is, taken directly into heaven by Jesus before the final, honest-to-goodness end of the world ~ and I know he was disappointed. He died of cancer many years later in our home in Crossville, Tennessee. Mom and dad, neither of whom shared his passion for the end times, eventually decided he had really been afraid to die and that’s what it all came down to, period. I think I agree.

Eventually, I cast aside his super-despondent eschatology of hopelessness. I simply could not continue on in life in this world saddled with the sickening thought that anything and everything I did or might do would, ultimately, prove absolutely futile. “Well, my life might end up being no good,” I thought, “but I’d like a chance … or at least to believe I have some chance to do something good and lasting. Just an opportunity.”

I still like fishing and playing horseshoes, and when on the now-rare occasion I do, I always think of my Grandpa Eads and, too, anytime I’m engaged in anything like carpentry. I wonder how he’s doing? Surely, better and happier; at least, I hope so, and I hope to see him again one day. (Do they play horseshoes in heaven?) Right now, though … I’d still like a chance to do something good and lasting. Just an opportunity.

Note: The copyrights on the article belong to the author. The responsibility for the opinions expressed in the article belongs exclusively to the author.