Street advise

Dude, don’t ask me to walk in your shoes.

They won’t fit my feet.

Pay your own debts

You made them, not me.

No, I won’t fight your war,

The battles are all yours.

Never ask for a handout

When a hand up is more help.

If you hunger I’ll feed you.

If you bleed I’ll bandage you.

If you fall I’ll help you up.

But I will not be you.

The Sage

Overheard someone talking about the upcoming election and how they wish Obama could run again.

(I threw up, but politely.)

The next thing I heard is how upset she was that a soldier declined to voice any opinion of Mr. Obama.

Seems she was ready to tear him a new one or buy him lunch depending on his answer.

“Obama is our hero, he got us out of that nasty war” she said.

“Ma’am, I am not allowed to voice my opinion of POTUS, but I can vote – Republican.”

The soldier did a perfect salute, an about face and marched off whistling God Bless America.

 

 

The Sage

Yesterday was too late to change tomorrow.

Today is the outcome.

Now what?

Never allow one defeat to create another.

Live, learn and love.

For tomorrow is today.

 

WE ARE ALL RELATED!

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  Mitakuye Oyasin – Prayer, thought, hope, dream one day reality?

Join us for WE ARE ALL RELATED!

Mitakuye Oyasin

Make a sign – “WE ARE ALL RELATED!” – Hold it up in front of you and take a selfie.

Send your picture to PapaNyk@gmail.com and we will include it on this post.

Be sure to give us your first name and what country you are in.

 

Mitakuye Oyasin to you all my relations.

 

Papa Nyk

The Old Man

2015-02-16

FABLE

One night in spring, a young black slave boy was walking along an old deer trail in colonial Virginia. His master had sent him to deliver some letters to an old friend. The hour was late; the setting sun a bare candle amid the deep forest. Having no lantern, the slave boy walked carefully lest he fall.

As he nears his destination a voice called out to him: “Beware the stones, lest they trouble your step.”

“Who’s there?” cried the slave boy.

“I am he, the one you seek.” The voice replied.

“Attend to the tree roots that may tangle your foot.”

“Thank you kind sir but the growing darkness hides them.”

“Slow your pace, let your toes become your eyes.” Spoke the voice.

“You are wise sir. I am indebted to your knowledge.”

Suddenly, barely two arm’s span ahead he see a campfire on the path. He approaches with caution.

“I bring you these letters from my master.”

A thin white hand with withered fingers reaches out over the fire as the voice says, “Place them on the stump beside you my young friend then sit on the log here by my fire.”

“Thank you sir, the warmth is a boon as the sun sleeps.”

“I see you are most polite and respectful, both good qualities for a young man to teach himself.”

“But how…?”

“Tall, intelligent, well groomed, you are a tribute to your parents.”

“Thank you sir.”

“You are well read and self-educated, aren’t you?”

“Yes sir, but how did you…?”

“As a child you slew your dragons. Now as a handsome youth, you are prepared to take on the world before you.”

“I am but a slave sir.”

“Can not a slave dream of freedom and long for the taste of a new world?

“Yes sir.”

“I see in you that which will be a blessing for the future of all peoples. You will share love with an open heart. Your eyes so big and bright will be beacons for those in need of caring. Your name will be legend in your time and beyond.”

“Yes sir, yes it is my dream but how can a mere slave realize such a dream?”

“Do you know what papers you brought me?”

“No sir.”

“Open them and read the words of my dear friend.”

With trembling fingers, the slave opens the large envelope and withdraws the papers bound in red ribbon.

“To my great and wise friend I send my love and this young lad who is my slave.”

The young slave’s heart begins to pulse faster as he reads.

“I ask you my friend to look deep into him for those hidden qualities I know exist. If you find merit in his countenance and spirit, please give him these papers of freedom that he might pursue his destiny to bring light to a darkened world.”

The slave looks across the fire towards the voice.

“Is this true what it says here?”

“Yes my son, it is true. I see knowledge, skills and determination in you – use them wisely. You have earned the right and responsibilities of freedom.”

There is a silence disturbed only by the crackle of a log on the fire.

Suddenly, as if by magic the old man stands before the slave.

“I have seen you and know you. It is time for you to go.”

“But sir, I don’t understand! How can you say you’ve seen me and know me when you are blind?”

“What better way to accurately see someone than through the eyes of the blind?”

Is Obama a Christian?

Ever wonder what Pope Francis or John Paul II might say?

I don’t know but as for me, I think Obama is about as much a Christian as the Ayatollah of Iran.

I fail to understand how someone who claims to belong to a peaceful and loving faith can sit back and “study the situation” for so long while innocents are murdered.

What is going through his mind?

What was going through the mind of the teenage boys lined up against a wall and murdered (I refuse to call it executed) for watching a soccer game?

What was going on in the mind of the young child who was thrown into a hole, covered with dirt and left to slowly die?

What were the victims of beheading thinking as the knife, not a sword, not a guillotine and not an axe but a knife sliced through their skin, trachea, muscles, tendons, nerves and vertebrae?

What were the last thoughts of the brave Jordanian pilot as he smelled the accelerant on his body and watched the flames rush towards him?

Does Mr. Holier Than Thou Obama think they were all studying their situations?

So the question arises, is Obama a Christian? Many claim he is not. Many claim he is a Muslim.

My opinion is that he is neither — to think otherwise would insult both religions.

He’s a disgrace to the Oval Office and, in my opinion to all honorable black Americans.

 

A Fable

 

Sacrificial Raccoon

On a crisp, clear spring morning, as golden sky arrows pierce the forest an old raccoon labors up a narrow path to the top of a knoll there to lay his tired and worn body in the warm sun. His time of walking on is close and he doesn’t want it to be during the cold, still night.

He is disoriented as he reaches the top of the knoll, but he can feel the warmth encompass him. The aches and pains of his lifetime now numb as he as he lay his old sick body in the warning grass. He rolls over several times heating each of his joints as though cleansing them in the warmth of the sun as he wipes the spittle from his beard and rubs his paws on the moist leaves.

Weary from his trek, he closes his eyes and wonders, “How long will it take? Will I suffer the pain of many others or the madness of the few?”

A sound, a low snarl comes from the low brush by the path. He knows this sound. He knows his pain will soon end. He lays still.

Slowly, as if losing a race with a snail the intruder emerges from the brush its eyes darting in all directions as it searches for the source of the delicious aroma that has permeated his haven.

“There, look there it is!” it thinks as it focuses on the old one laying alone in the sun. It begins to salivate – hunger is overwhelming, clouding the mind as it attacks plunging fangs into the old raccoon.

“Welcome coyote. Welcome to death. No longer will you steal our young!” cries the raccoon as he in-turn bites his foe one last time before shadows overtake him.

The coyote stops, an unfamiliar taste assails his tongue as the stench of insanity flows into his body.

Too late wisdom, too late options, too late…