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Quote by L.M. Browning

“Justified within ourselves that we have suffered more than others, we feel guiltless when we disregard those in front of us, be they our family, our co-workers, strangers we interact with during our daily business, or faceless masses in foreign lands. There are those who transcend the bitter acts done unto them, declaring that the pain shall end with them. And then there are those who use the crimes committed against them as a free pass to commit crimes against others. Wronged as we each have been, nothing gives us the right to disregard the fragility of another. We can and must halt the hate passing throughout this world. A hateful act done unto us can be absorbed and transcended or it can be re-projected, thus allowing its ill force to continue moving throughout the population. We must work to transcend those hateful things already carried out upon each of us and in doing so prevent new acts of hate from being done. We must work to heal from the wounds already received and connect to a sense of consideration, to ensure that we do not pass along any of our pain to the generations as yet unburdened. We must declare a general amnesty; we must forgive each other and in doing so find that we have been forgiven. We must put away our bitterness and extend an open hand.”

Quote by L.M. Browning

Book:Seasons of Contemplation: A Book of Midnight Meditations
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Seasons of Contemplation: A Book of Midnight Meditations

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L.M. Browning

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“MY FATHER If I have to write a poem about my father it has to be about integrity and kindness — the selfless kind of kindness that is so very rare I am sure there will be many people living somewhere who must be as kind as him but what I mean to say is I have not met one yet and when it comes to helping others he always helps too much and as the saying goes — help someone, you earn a friend. help someone too much, you make an enemy. — so you know the gist of what I’m trying to say here anyways I was talking about the poem about my father it has to be about passion and hard work because you see you cannot separate these things from him they are part of him as his two eyes and two hands and his heart and his soul and his whole being and you cannot separate wind and waves or living and the universe or earth and heavens and although he never got any award from bureaucracy the students he taught ages ago still touch his feet and some of them are the people you have to make an appointment to meet even if it is for two minutes of their time and that’s a reward for him bigger than any other that some of his colleagues got for their flattery and also I have to write about reliability as well because you see as the sun always rises and the snowflakes are always six-folds and the spring always comes and the petals of a sunflower and every flower follows the golden ratio of symmetry my father never fails to keep his promise I have to mention the rage as well that he always carries inside him like a burning fire for wrongdoings for injustice and now he carries a bitterness too for people who used him good and discarded as it always happens with every good man in our world of humans and you must be thinking he has learned his lessons well you go to him — it does not matter who you are if he knows you or you are a stranger from other side of the world — and ask for his help he will be happy to do so as you must know people never change not their soul in any case.”

FatherParentsPoetry QuotesPoems On LifeFather And DaughterFather Quotes
Author:Neena H Brar
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“Wenner began a campaign to get his parents back together. Sim told her son she wanted him to call only every other week to reduce her phone bills. “Your demand that Dad and I be something to each other that we’re not, is basically a child’s demand,” she wrote to him in 1959, when Wenner was thirteen. “One stamps one’s foot and says, ‘Change the world and I will be all right!’ and it’s a nice comforting thought to have, but the world can’t be changed, families can’t be changed, mothers, fathers, sisters, brothers…There is only one thing that can be changed, or rather, only one thing that you can change, and that is yourself.” (“Maternally yours,” she signed the letter.)”

FamilyAbuseParentsTeenagerJann Wenner
Book:Sticky Fingers: The Life and Times of Jann Wenner and Rolling Stone Magazine
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“When I was a child, I always hated being used in my father's sermons, shrunk to a symbol to illustrate some larger lesson, flattened out to give other people comfort or instruction or even a laugh. It did some violence to my third dimension; it made it difficult for me to breathe. 'That's not me,' I would think, listening to some fable where a stick figure of myself moved automatically toward a punishing moral. 'That has nothing to do with me at all.' If I had a soul, I thought, it was that resistance, which would never let another human being have the last word on me.”

ReligionIdentityParentsPriestsRebellionSermons
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“Los padres de Tom son docentes e intelectuales. Su padre dio clases de Literatura en el Connecticut College durante treinta años. Su madre trabajaba en la secretaría de exalumnos. Vivían y respiraban universidad, y se ufanaban de ser cultos, cosa que se reflejaba en todo lo que hacían y eran. En gran parte era inofensivo, y hasta beneficioso, para Tom y su hermana pequeña, Kathy. Las vacaciones eran siempre de acampada familiar. No les dejaban ver la tele sin supervisión, y solo los fines de semana. Imaginaos lo insulso que era el contenido autorizado. Tenían que leer diez libros por verano, y a colonias nunca iban. Nada de quedarse a dormir en casa de un amigo. Toque de queda estricto, y cada domingo a la iglesia, aunque de religión se hablaba más en términos de teoría y sociología que de pasión y fe. Lo evaluaban y lo analizaban todo, despojándolo de las influencias emocionales que pudieran llevar a creer en una mentira o a actuar de modo erróneo. Seguro que conocéis a gente de este tipo. A los no tan disciplinados les despiertan ganas de zarandearlos hasta que se desprenda alguna emoción, aunque se queden inconscientes. No parecen humanos, a pesar de su tan buen comportamiento. ¿En qué se traducía todo esto para Tom? Si llegaba a casa con sobresalientes, no había euforia, abrazos, besos ni llamadas por teléfono a los abuelos. Nada de monedas para la hucha, ni de postre especial, ni de saltarse una práctica de piano. No pegaban las notas a la nevera, no; las evaluaban y las comentaban, y a Tom le recordaban que sus notas eran un reflejo de lo mucho que había trabajado, y que no se pensara que era mejor o más listo que los otros. Y cuando cantaba en la obra de fin de curso, o anotaba una carrera en el partido de béisbol, o traía un animal de barro pintado de la asignatura de arte, con un vago parecido a una jirafa… Todo lo que hacía Tom era objeto de valoración sincera y desapasionada. En el segundo estribillo has desafinado un poco, Tom. A la primera base has llegado más que nada por suerte, Tom. No te creas que te volverá a pasar. Tienes que practicar más. Hombre, se nota que te has divertido haciéndolo. Sí, ¿verdad? Exacto. Un poco adelantados a su tiempo, precursores de los consejos educativos que nos han endosado durante la pasada década. No hay que estar orgulloso de los hijos. Son ellos los que tienen que enorgullecerse. Tampoco hay que hacer falsos elogios, porque entonces dejan de fiarse de nuestras opiniones. No hay que dejarlos por el mundo creyéndose mejores de lo que son, porque solo servirá para que se lleven una decepción. La verdadera autoestima es la que viene de tener unos padres sinceros. Yo estos disparates los rechazo desde siempre. En eso soy un caso aparte. Somos seres pequeños e insignificantes. Lo único que nos llena, lo que nos da un horizonte, orgullo, sentido del yo, es el lugar que ocupamos en los corazones de la gente. Necesitamos que nos quieran nuestros padres sin condicionantes, sin lógica ni racionalidad. Necesitamos que nos vean a través de un cristal distorsionado por su amor y que nos digan de todas las maneras posibles que los llena de felicidad el mero hecho de que estemos en el mundo. De acuerdo, algún día nos daremos cuenta de que nuestras jirafas de barro no eran magistrales, pero es necesario que nos hagan llorar siempre que las bajemos de nuestros desvanes, sabiendo que cuando nuestros padres veían estos trozos de yeso tan feos sentían un orgullo absurdo y ganas de abrazarnos hasta que nos dolieran los huesos. Es lo que necesitamos de los padres, más que la verdad sobre lo pequeños que somos. Ya habrá gente de sobra que nos lo recuerde y nos ofrezca evaluaciones desapasionadas de nuestra mediocridad.”

LoveEducationParentsParenthoodEducaciónPadresPaternidad
Book:All Is Not Forgotten
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