"Don't Hate Me Because I'm Beautiful"

Sometimes, they don't dislike you because of something you supposedly, just maybe, may or may not have even "done wrong" to begin with. Sometimes someone or other in your life just can't stand the sight of you because you may actually possess something that they themselves do not, or something (such as a talent or some other all too obvious virtue - even if it's only innocence) that they might not have in quite such glaring abundance.

Maybe you're just too pretty. Maybe you're just too smart. Maybe you're none of the above. Maybe you're just plain average, but the fault actually lies within them, and not you. Therefore, maybe they themselves feel an overwhelming deficit, a deep chasm in the pit of their very soul, and the only way they can feel better about the sorry state of their own wretched existence is to put others down, just to feel even just a little bit bigger, or so-called "better" than everyone else.

Sometimes it's just because of someone or other in their own past who despised them for no particularly good reason - other than pure, instinctual, bad old fashioned jealousy, that is. You know, envy. Spite. And they are already angry on the inside because maybe... like a lot of us, "Life just doesn't seem fair." Sometimes. Sometimes for healthy folks, but not so much for the mentally ill, the perpetually self-tortured.

So... that right there is actually all the excuse in the world that some sad people might need to hate your stinking guts - and then treat you accordingly. But then... I guess that's just some people for ya. Hmm. 🤨

A Rose for the Muses

I have never really wanted to admit it to myself, but I think it's finally about damn time.  Actually, maybe even too much, too little, too late.  Because there seems to always be someone (sometimes more than one) in my life who, whether they are consciously aware of it or not, seeks to curb my powerful, God given creative drive.

Yes, the muses of Greek "mythology" almost daily "look upon me with favor, for my talent and creativity."  But make no mistake, is it a dialog.  They give to me because I pay them heed.  I listen to their whispers on the gentle winds.  I spy their works of magic in the world around me, often when no one else can even be bothered to so much as stop amid their work a day hurry, to look at all the natural beauty and untold mystery around us all, each and every one.

And you can do it too.  They are waiting.  Somewhere, there is the neglected, gently blushing face of a tender rose, sprouting from a crack in a sun kissed alley or forgotten grotto, just waiting patiently for the fleeting celebrity of a photographic image, a drawing, or the ever so small, but undying devotion in the giddy imbibing of a child who stops, if only for a single fleeting moment, to supplicate, and drink in its humble glory.

Although envy can often be a powerful impetus for personal development, it can also be is a sickness.  So do not hate the skyward struggling rose that blooms.  Pluck it if you must.  But know that the terrible moment of your own reaping will also one day come.  And on that day, will you know the gentle fragrance of the fleeting rose?  Or cause vengeful crimson gore to pour from the fingers of the almighty hand that comes to silence your own personal growth?  Once and for all.

Seize the day.  Smell the flowers.  Before it's too late.