NAKED AGAIN!

Here I am. Trying to be Naked Again.

You know, bearing my soul and writing from the heart.  It's going to be tough, because I have a lot of turmoil  going on in my head.

Several months ago, someone tried to use my writing against me.  It made me cover up and resist the exposure.

Kama sucks, cause their life isn't the happiest right now and their ability to do damage to me was greatly reduced.

But I was still afraid to open up.

Now, I'm on the edge of truly flinging off the coverings that hide my essence and get free and naked once again.

Stay tuned!

Scared

Today, many of us are scared.

For many of us, the terrorist bombing in Boston yesterday brought back memories of September 11, 2001.

This morning before I boarded an airplane, I had to remove my shoes and coat, put my laptop, Kindle and mobile phone into plastic tubs along with my quart-sized zip-lock bag that contained a minimal amount of liquids I need to carry with me on this trip.

That is the price we now pay to feel safe when flying.

But how can we as a society ever feel safe when we're out in the open?  How can we feel safe when we're inside a baseball park or wandering a shopping mall or standing on the street watching a marathon?

I don't know either.

But I do know, I refuse to be scared.  I refuse to live my life sheltered by threats from outside forces like crazy Korean Dictators or cowardly terrorist hiding in the shadows.

Today, I will not be scared!

BareNakedBill.blogspot.com

Regret

Webster will tell you regret is a negative conscious and emotional reaction to personal past acts and behaviors, often expressed by the term "sorry."


Regret can describe not only the dislike for an action that has been committed, but also, importantly, regret of inaction. Many people find themselves wishing that they had done something in a past situation.

I have many regrets in my life.

I regret not doing a lot of things I should have done when I had the opportunity.  I regret some of the choices I have made in my life.

I regret my inability to convince others to learn from my mistakes and listen to my advice.

Regret is often a feeling of sadness, shame, embarrassment, depression, annoyance, or guilt.

Regret is also about living in a place that none of us belong -- the past.

So live everyday to the fullest, so you have no regrets.

BareNakedBill.blogspot.com

A Novel Idea

From time to time, I think about writing a book. A work of fiction, perhaps, with interesting characters.

It's in my head already. I just need to move it through my fingers into my computer.

But then, I realize that I'm not that kind of writer. Nor do I have a huge desire to be one.

I have found, however, that you can write a book about nearly any subject and sell it on Amazon.com.

If I could make money writing a book about how to sharpen pencils, I would do it.

BareNakedBill.blogspot.com

I feel old

I had hair in the mid-1960s.

The other day I was looking through a box of old photos and ran across the one of the right.  I think it's my first or second grade school picture.

As I looked at it, I felt old.

Where has my life gone?

That young child in the photo had his whole life ahead of him.  There were so many things to be learned, so may new inventions to be discovered and utilized.  So many adventures to cherish forever.

This morning, as I looked in the mirror, shaving cream on my face, I felt old.

I noticed more wrinkles around by eyes and less hair on my head.

And it's no consolation that I have more hair in my ears.

I've always said that age is just a number.  I don't think I feel like I'm pushing 52 years old, mostly because I don't know what a 52 year old is suppose to feel like.

My age really isn't a factor in my feeling old.

Maybe it's a mid-life crisis.

But mid-life at 52 means living to 104 years old.

I think I would feel really old then.

BareNakedBill.blogspot.com

Graffiti Art

Over the weekend I spotted these train cars on a railroad siding here in Pigeon. There isn't anything overwhelmingly special about the graffiti, yet I find it interesting.

Creative "artwork" such as this often catches my eye.  I'm fascinated at how someone takes cans of spray paint and places their vision on a canvas.  Even when that canvas is a train car or side of a building.

If nothing else, it adds an interesting view as we wait for the train to make its way over the crossing in front of us.

BareNakedBill.blogspot.com

A Love Story

On Valentine's Day, it seems appropriate to share a love story. Read it like poetry. Enjoy!

She

Let him kiss me with the kisses of his mouth —

for your love is more delightful than wine.

Pleasing is the fragrance of your perfumes;

your name is like perfume poured out.

No wonder the young women love you!

Take me away with you — let us hurry!

Let the king bring me into his chambers.

Friends

We rejoice and delight in you;

we will praise your love more than wine.

She

How right they are to adore you!

Dark am I, yet lovely,

daughters of Jerusalem,

dark like the tents of Kedar,

like the tent curtains of Solomon.

Do not stare at me because I am dark,

because I am darkened by the sun.

My mother’s sons were angry with me

and made me take care of the vineyards;

my own vineyard I had to neglect.

Tell me, you whom I love,

where you graze your flock

and where you rest your sheep at midday.

Why should I be like a veiled woman

beside the flocks of your friends?

Friends

If you do not know, most beautiful of women,

follow the tracks of the sheep

and graze your young goats

by the tents of the shepherds.

He

I liken you, my darling, to a mare

among Pharaoh’s chariot horses.

Your cheeks are beautiful with earrings,

your neck with strings of jewels.

We will make you earrings of gold,

studded with silver.

She

While the king was at his table,

my perfume spread its fragrance.

My beloved is to me a sachet of myrrh

resting between my breasts.

My beloved is to me a cluster of henna blossoms

from the vineyards of En Gedi.

He

How beautiful you are, my darling!

Oh, how beautiful!

Your eyes are doves.

She

How handsome you are, my beloved!

Oh, how charming!

And our bed is verdant.

He

The beams of our house are cedars;

our rafters are firs.

She

I am a rose of Sharon,

a lily of the valleys.

He

Like a lily among thorns

is my darling among the young women.

She

Like an apple tree among the trees of the forest

is my beloved among the young men.

I delight to sit in his shade,

and his fruit is sweet to my taste.

Let him lead me to the banquet hall,

and let his banner over me be love.

Strengthen me with raisins,

refresh me with apples,

for I am faint with love.

His left arm is under my head,

and his right arm embraces me.

Daughters of Jerusalem, I charge you

by the gazelles and by the does of the field:

Do not arouse or awaken love

until it so desires.

Listen! My beloved!

Look! Here he comes,

leaping across the mountains,

bounding over the hills.

My beloved is like a gazelle or a young stag.

Look! There he stands behind our wall,

gazing through the windows,

peering through the lattice.

My beloved spoke and said to me,

“Arise, my darling,

my beautiful one, come with me.

See! The winter is past;

the rains are over and gone.

Flowers appear on the earth;

the season of singing has come,

the cooing of doves

is heard in our land.

The fig tree forms its early fruit;

the blossoming vines spread their fragrance.

Arise, come, my darling;

my beautiful one, come with me.”

He

My dove in the clefts of the rock,

in the hiding places on the mountainside,

show me your face,

let me hear your voice;

for your voice is sweet,

and your face is lovely.

Catch for us the foxes,

the little foxes

that ruin the vineyards,

our vineyards that are in bloom.

She

My beloved is mine and I am his;

he browses among the lilies.

Until the day breaks

and the shadows flee,

turn, my beloved,

and be like a gazelle

or like a young stag

on the rugged hills.

All night long on my bed

I looked for the one my heart loves;

I looked for him but did not find him.

I will get up now and go about the city,

through its streets and squares;

I will search for the one my heart loves.

So I looked for him but did not find him.

The watchmen found me

as they made their rounds in the city.

“Have you seen the one my heart loves?”

Scarcely had I passed them

when I found the one my heart loves.

I held him and would not let him go

till I had brought him to my mother’s house,

to the room of the one who conceived me.

Daughters of Jerusalem, I charge you

by the gazelles and by the does of the field:

Do not arouse or awaken love

until it so desires.

Who is this coming up from the wilderness

like a column of smoke,

perfumed with myrrh and incense

made from all the spices of the merchant?

Look! It is Solomon’s carriage,

escorted by sixty warriors,

the noblest of Israel,

all of them wearing the sword,

all experienced in battle,

each with his sword at his side,

prepared for the terrors of the night.

King Solomon made for himself the carriage;

he made it of wood from Lebanon.

Its posts he made of silver,

its base of gold.

Its seat was upholstered with purple,

its interior inlaid with love.

Daughters of Jerusalem, come out,

and look, you daughters of Zion.

Look on King Solomon wearing a crown,

the crown with which his mother crowned him

on the day of his wedding,

the day his heart rejoiced.

He

How beautiful you are, my darling!

Oh, how beautiful!

Your eyes behind your veil are doves.

Your hair is like a flock of goats

descending from the hills of Gilead.

Your teeth are like a flock of sheep just shorn,

coming up from the washing.

Each has its twin;

not one of them is alone.

Your lips are like a scarlet ribbon;

your mouth is lovely.

Your temples behind your veil

are like the halves of a pomegranate.

Your neck is like the tower of David,

built with courses of stone;

on it hang a thousand shields,

all of them shields of warriors.

Your breasts are like two fawns,

like twin fawns of a gazelle

that browse among the lilies.

Until the day breaks

and the shadows flee,

I will go to the mountain of myrrh

and to the hill of incense.

You are altogether beautiful, my darling;

there is no flaw in you.

Come with me from Lebanon, my bride,

come with me from Lebanon.

Descend from the crest of Amana,

from the top of Senir, the summit of Hermon,

from the lions’ dens

and the mountain haunts of leopards.

You have stolen my heart, my sister, my bride;

you have stolen my heart

with one glance of your eyes,

with one jewel of your necklace.

How delightful is your love, my sister, my bride!

How much more pleasing is your love than wine,

and the fragrance of your perfume

more than any spice!

Your lips drop sweetness as the honeycomb, my bride;

milk and honey are under your tongue.

The fragrance of your garments

is like the fragrance of Lebanon.

You are a garden locked up, my sister, my bride;

you are a spring enclosed, a sealed fountain.

Your plants are an orchard of pomegranates

with choice fruits,

with henna and nard,

nard and saffron,

calamus and cinnamon,

with every kind of incense tree,

with myrrh and aloes

and all the finest spices.

You are a garden fountain,

a well of flowing water

streaming down from Lebanon.

She

Awake, north wind,

and come, south wind!

Blow on my garden,

that its fragrance may spread everywhere.

Let my beloved come into his garden

and taste its choice fruits.

He

I have come into my garden, my sister, my bride;

I have gathered my myrrh with my spice.

I have eaten my honeycomb and my honey;

I have drunk my wine and my milk.

Friends

Eat, friends, and drink;

drink your fill of love.

She

I slept but my heart was awake.

Listen! My beloved is knocking:

“Open to me, my sister, my darling,

my dove, my flawless one.

My head is drenched with dew,

my hair with the dampness of the night.”

I have taken off my robe—

must I put it on again?

I have washed my feet—

must I soil them again?

My beloved thrust his hand through the latch-opening;

my heart began to pound for him.

I arose to open for my beloved,

and my hands dripped with myrrh,

my fingers with flowing myrrh,

on the handles of the bolt.

I opened for my beloved,

but my beloved had left; he was gone.

My heart sank at his departure.[a]

I looked for him but did not find him.

I called him but he did not answer.

The watchmen found me

as they made their rounds in the city.

They beat me, they bruised me;

they took away my cloak,

those watchmen of the walls!

Daughters of Jerusalem, I charge you—

if you find my beloved,

what will you tell him?

Tell him I am faint with love.

Friends

How is your beloved better than others,

most beautiful of women?

How is your beloved better than others,

that you so charge us?

She

My beloved is radiant and ruddy,

outstanding among ten thousand.

His head is purest gold;

his hair is wavy

and black as a raven.

His eyes are like doves

by the water streams,

washed in milk,

mounted like jewels.

His cheeks are like beds of spice

yielding perfume.

His lips are like lilies

dripping with myrrh.

His arms are rods of gold

set with topaz.

His body is like polished ivory

decorated with lapis lazuli.

His legs are pillars of marble

set on bases of pure gold.

His appearance is like Lebanon,

choice as its cedars.

His mouth is sweetness itself;

he is altogether lovely.

This is my beloved, this is my friend,

daughters of Jerusalem.

Friends

Where has your beloved gone,

most beautiful of women?

Which way did your beloved turn,

that we may look for him with you?

She

My beloved has gone down to his garden,

to the beds of spices,

to browse in the gardens

and to gather lilies.

I am my beloved’s and my beloved is mine;

he browses among the lilies.

He

You are as beautiful as Tirzah, my darling,

as lovely as Jerusalem,

as majestic as troops with banners.

Turn your eyes from me;

they overwhelm me.

Your hair is like a flock of goats

descending from Gilead.

Your teeth are like a flock of sheep

coming up from the washing.

Each has its twin,

not one of them is missing.

Your temples behind your veil

are like the halves of a pomegranate.

Sixty queens there may be,

and eighty concubines,

and virgins beyond number;

but my dove, my perfect one, is unique,

the only daughter of her mother,

the favorite of the one who bore her.

The young women saw her and called her blessed;

the queens and concubines praised her.

Friends

Who is this that appears like the dawn,

fair as the moon, bright as the sun,

majestic as the stars in procession?

He

I went down to the grove of nut trees

to look at the new growth in the valley,

to see if the vines had budded

or the pomegranates were in bloom.

Before I realized it,

my desire set me among the royal chariots of my people.

Friends

Come back, come back, O Shulammite;

come back, come back, that we may gaze on you!

He

Why would you gaze on the Shulammite

as on the dance of Mahanaim?

How beautiful your sandaled feet,

O prince’s daughter!

Your graceful legs are like jewels,

the work of an artist’s hands.

Your navel is a rounded goblet

that never lacks blended wine.

Your waist is a mound of wheat

encircled by lilies.

Your breasts are like two fawns,

like twin fawns of a gazelle.

Your neck is like an ivory tower.

Your eyes are the pools of Heshbon

by the gate of Bath Rabbim.

Your nose is like the tower of Lebanon

looking toward Damascus.

Your head crowns you like Mount Carmel.

Your hair is like royal tapestry;

the king is held captive by its tresses.

How beautiful you are and how pleasing,

my love, with your delights!

Your stature is like that of the palm,

and your breasts like clusters of fruit.

I said, “I will climb the palm tree;

I will take hold of its fruit.”

May your breasts be like clusters of grapes on the vine,

the fragrance of your breath like apples,

and your mouth like the best wine.

She

May the wine go straight to my beloved,

flowing gently over lips and teeth.

I belong to my beloved,

and his desire is for me.

Come, my beloved, let us go to the countryside,

let us spend the night in the villages.

Let us go early to the vineyards

to see if the vines have budded,

if their blossoms have opened,

and if the pomegranates are in bloom—

there I will give you my love.

The mandrakes send out their fragrance,

and at our door is every delicacy,

both new and old,

that I have stored up for you, my beloved.

If only you were to me like a brother,

who was nursed at my mother’s breasts!

Then, if I found you outside,

I would kiss you,

and no one would despise me.

I would lead you

and bring you to my mother’s house—

she who has taught me.

I would give you spiced wine to drink,

the nectar of my pomegranates.

His left arm is under my head

and his right arm embraces me.

Daughters of Jerusalem, I charge you:

Do not arouse or awaken love

until it so desires.

Friends

Who is this coming up from the wilderness

leaning on her beloved?

She

Under the apple tree I roused you;

there your mother conceived you,

there she who was in labor gave you birth.

Place me like a seal over your heart,

like a seal on your arm;

for love is as strong as death,

its jealousy[a] unyielding as the grave.

It burns like blazing fire,

like a mighty flame.

Many waters cannot quench love;

rivers cannot sweep it away.

If one were to give

all the wealth of one’s house for love,

it  would be utterly scorned.

Friends

We have a little sister,

and her breasts are not yet grown.

What shall we do for our sister

on the day she is spoken for?

If she is a wall,

we will build towers of silver on her.

If she is a door,

we will enclose her with panels of cedar.

She

I am a wall,

and my breasts are like towers.

Thus I have become in his eyes

like one bringing contentment.

Solomon had a vineyard in Baal Hamon;

he let out his vineyard to tenants.

Each was to bring for its fruit

a thousand shekels of silver.

But my own vineyard is mine to give;

the thousand shekels are for you, Solomon,

and two hundred are for those who tend its fruit.

He

You who dwell in the gardens

with friends in attendance,

let me hear your voice!

She

Come away, my beloved,

and be like a gazelle

or like a young stag

on the spice-laden mountains.

This is the book of Solomon from the Bible... one of the greatest love stories written.

BareNakedBill.blogspot.com