I place these words before you…The little man who stands in dark corners, afraid of the light…you, the one that stands so tall before her, that belittles her with your might.  But in reality you are held powerless before her. Although you raise your hand, as well as your voice… to make her bow down to you, and your manly strength.  Not realizing that each time you do this, only to fall deeper into your darkness.  But realize, light has been shed on your weakness, and is visible to those who see.  For your hand raised, your voice in words of anger, only strengthen your directed victim.  Instead of showing your weakness, you should bow down before her, her strength mightier than yours.  Have you forgotten where it is that you came from?  Did you not come from a woman’s womb?  And were you not nurtured as a child by a woman?  Did you not know, or have you forgotten the pain a woman suffered, suffered in giving you birth?  Do you not realize, the joy upon her face, only moments after giving that birth, a smile and the warmth she pasted on, only seconds after giving you life.  And now you dare stand before another and have thoughts that you are mightier than her?

O, little man…lost in your darkness.

 Where did your thoughts come from, when was the moment in your life that you concluded that you were mightier than a woman?  Did she not bare children for you, do you forget the strength she possessed?  A pain, as a man, you yourself could not handle.  You, even now, grown, would cry and whimper like a baby… if asked to bring life into this world.  Yes you little man that stands tall with your hand.  O, little man, come out of the darkness, lower your hand, and fall to your knees before her.  Bow your head and ask for forgiveness, beg for it… and relinquish your own minds power over her, for it is truly the woman that possesses the strength.  Do it now, while you still have a chance, for tomorrow is not promised to anyone.  Lower your hand and beg for forgiveness, before it is to late…and if you are asked to stay, be thankful for her strength and never forget it again…And if it is to late, and you are asked to leave, back out with your head bowed before her, and ask her for her forgiveness as you leave, and you may be granted a peace in the future for a lesson may have been learned.  O, little man of no strength…these words are not to be offensive, they are only given in hopes of enlightenment.  Never again belittle another woman, for the woman truly is more powerful than man.  Remember to give praise for her as she stands by your side… and never you walk ahead again.  Remember she is not there to serve you, her strength is there to help…O, little man, my words are written to help you, no way meant any harm…My words are meant as a lamp to help guide you, guide you into the light of her strength…please, let the light into your heart, let your heart shine bright!

O, Little Man…Praise the strength of your woman!

And never forget again.

The barren rose bush stands alone, barren, only stems, empty, only prickly thorns remain.  Winter had descended upon her.  Cold and all alone, isolated so it would have seemed from the inside looking out.  Years have passed, almost empty, only producing moments of small, insignificant blossoms for a long time.  Forgetful of even herself.  Forgetful of the joy of her own purpose in life.  One day, haphazardly, noticing from across the walkway, she noticed another rosebush, barren and isolated himself.  Two unhappy bushes, strike up a conversation.  Unnoticed by either, the cold winter of their lives had not seemed so cold.  She tells him, in searching for something, I found love in the outside sky.  She, looking up, watched the birds fly, and wished she could be like the birds, telling him, flying free.  Her thoughts of flying grew, more and more each day.  But somehow the thoughts of flying could not get the rosebush off the ground.  Something was missing.  The rosebush knew not what.  So she flew in her mind, alone.  He likewise was missing something in his life.  His thoughts, seemingly much grander, asked question of every passing thing.  His thoughts were of the universe.  In his mind, he flew to the heavens, to the creator of the universe, only wishing to get next to it, the creator.  So the conversation began, small at first, but she noticed a blossom on the rosebush across the distance.  The sounds coming from across the distance, faint at first, brought memories of the past.  Those sounds were of music to the ears of her, from across the way.  He grew more and more buds, just from the conversations with her from across the way.  She looked at the buds, and remembered how the sounds had made her feel before, not feeling her own buds producing, which had not happened for so long.  He noticed her buds, and commenting on there beauty, made her feel something more than she had felt in a long time.  Still looking at the birds, somehow she began to feel content here, on the ground, more so than she had felt in a long time.  His blossoms grew as well…he began doing things in his life that had somehow always been in his mind, but fearful of taking a chance.  The window opened, and the music now flowed between them more freely…and both, not realizing their own blossoms, but noticing the others.  Feelings so strange to both of them flooded their inside.  They both then, one day, looking into a passing mirror realized that they themselves were producing blossoms, beautiful looking blossoms, each realizing that it was something the other rosebush was doing to each other.  Others began to notice a difference as well.  They began to stop, and look at first.  But then questions from these outside sources, inquisitive at first, became more intense.  They did not appreciate the blossoms, for they were so used to only the thorns.  Soon, these outside sources began to erect barriers between the two rosebushes, not noticing the other across the way.  They took clippers to her, cutting off every blossom that grew.  They didn’t realize that this action of cutting off her blossoms, only made her produce more and more blossoms.  And the blossoms grew bigger and more beautiful each time.  Meanwhile, although separated, his blossoms grew more and more as well.  He realized that his search of the universe only brought him back to where he was, for he realized now that the creator he had been searching, was within, not external to himself.  And the more and more he thought of the creator being within, he realized that the creator had given him his answer all along, and it was just across the way.  He realized that the beauty of the music, the beauty of all the words he had seen, and the beauty of all the external things passing through his life was meaningless.  For it was not the external things that made the beauty of the blossoms, but the internal feelings that gave him joy that allowed the blossoms to become so beautiful.  And then one day the barriers that separated the two rosebushes were removed.  And although the external beauty of their full blossoms was noticed, it was the internal feelings of the other that made them realize their own happiness.  The complicated things in their lives began to disappear, and the joy of the other rosebush, knowing, realizing, that they were there for each other, and would always be, no matter what.  And with this realization, she now knew, she could fly, as well as he, realizing his creation, the purpose of life.  They now knew, that together, they could become one, and together, both flying, could find the peace they both had been searching for all their lives.

Went into the pizza joint today and ordered a pitcher.  the owner was there a new employee was being trained today.  The smell of those fresh baked pizzas, that fresh bread aroma…filling the nostrils that trigger those taste buds that makes one want to order a pizza.  But not today, must override these human senses.  Please, just the pitcher of Bud.  I sit in “my “ booth, becoming a bit of a celebrity now, and pull out my notebook to jot some thoughts down.  The counter, which is a semi-horseshoe shape, only six feet away from me.  A good vantage point for someone who likes to write, like me, I sit and observe as the people come and go.  Not for some judgmental reason, not to pick up anyone.  I observe for the pen.  Today only one person is waiting, a man in his forties, a little overweight being he is all of 5’3” in his body frame and weighing a few ticks over 200 pounds.  Seems to be a worker by trade, wearing blue jeans well worn and signs of one knee beginning to show signs of wearing through.  Must be a bud man himself by the black belt and the buckle that reads Budweiser.  He has on a white tee shirt with a company logo I can’t make out what it says.  He has a stubble of a beard on his round chubby face.  As I lay my pen down for a sip of my beer, I notice the new employee alone at the counter.  The boss must be in the back filling out a phone order that came in.  The new guy, attempting to look busy, fumbles around with the soda glasses and plastic containers located under the counter.  Not really doing nothing, but removing and replacing them, his eyes go to a clear jar located on the countertop with more than a few dollars stuffed inside.  I say he’s not doing nothing with the glasses and stuff because his eyes keep going to that jar only a few inches away from his nose.  Looking at those Washington’s and a few coins, his curiosity finally overtakes him.  His eyes drift to the back…checks out the boss whose halfway into making a pizza.  The new employee decides to make a peek around the room and guess it appears to him neither customer is watching.  I have that sleek way of checking things out without being noticed…and the new employee goes for the jar of Washington’s.  But as he dumps it out onto the countertop, the loose coins drop out and start falling onto the floor disrupting the new employees’ covert operation.  The owner looks out and I look up and that “oh shit, I got caught” look fills his face.  I laugh out loud and his face gets red as a beet.  The owner is half smiling, realizing his new employee is not doing what he should be doing.  The new employee shuffles his body and picks up the coins and replaces the tip jar back in its place.  Not at this moment will he know how many Washington’s are in the jar.  Embarrassed, he scrambles back to work as the owner barks out something for him to do.  I sip my beer and pick up my pen…back to story telling.