From The Source in 909 Words

There is a reason for everything they say.
I suppose there must be a reason; only, I’m not always sure I like what the reason is. I’m not sure how reasons make sense of things like the loss of a loved one or heartache.
They say there is a reason, that there is a path for us, and that someway, somehow, we are all going to end up exactly where we are supposed to be.
I assume this is true —I mean this has to be true especially if we believe this is true.

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From The Book of Firsts: This was Day 1

I was about to head to a small town I had never heard of in the Upstate part of New York. I was physically uncomfortable in my own skin and sick in a way that I had never felt before. I was told that I had to go “Away” until the courts figured out what to do with me. My attorney warned that I better hope this worked. He advised that I better pray that I don’t get what I deserve. I say “My attorney” but he was not my attorney. More accurately, he was the attorney my folks hired to defend me in a court of law. So it was more like he was “Their” attorney.

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There Goes That Voice Again

There is a voice within us all. In fact, there is more than one voice within us. In fact, there may be several voices, which come from different angles and speak for different reasons.
Each and every one of us has an internal monologue that we interact with on a daily basis. This is the voice of our thoughts. However, there are times when our thoughts tend to grow legs and run too quickly.
There are times when our thinking is not our friend. We tend to play this out and one thought leads to another and then another thought leads to the next.

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Stop Screwing Around!

I watched a group of men argue about a job for an entire day. One of the men argued about the equipment and the other argued about the supplies. Another argued about the man power because obviously nobody knows what they’re doing these days and another man argued that everyone was too busy arguing, “So why don’t you all just shut up and get to work!”

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Thinking About The Farm

It was late afternoon towards the end of August. The entire house was out in the fields for most of the day. The sun was hot and the air was thick. Our job was to gather the hay bales after the mowers cut and bundled the grass.  I can’t say this was easy because it wasn’t.
I never did anything like this before. I never saw hay in the rough; and what I mean is I never saw freshly cut hay bales nor did I understand how heavy they could be because the grass was still wet and green. When I think of hay, I think of barns and blocks of tan straw. But that’s not what they look like when they’re fresh.

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Note To The Inner Kid

There is an entire world out there—
There is a quiet street just outside my front door. The sun is coming up as I write to you. I can see the outline of the trees through the window in my loft, which appear black in the contrast of the dark grayish sky.
Currently, the moment is silent. All I can hear is the sound of keys as I type my thoughts and the ringing I hear in my ears when there’s no other sound around me.

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