Let go and let be.
This is so awesome!
Social distancing vibes.
Happy Autism Acceptance Month!
Here’s my OC Coralie/Snowbeast, who’s ready to start the month and help educate people!
© Me, CelineDGD.
For my brave wife Gabi and for all the other hospital workers out there.
I will comb every archive for what’s been written and fire every neuron to write what has yet been written—to be there with you, in some fashion, on this Front. To help, if it could, bolster your nerve. And, I hope, to give you some inspiration in the yet darkest hours to come.
The video here is a clip from the Memphis Belle (1990) a story about the first WWII Allied air fortress to complete the full 24 mission tour of duty without being shot down (a feat thought to be impossible). Yet they were victorious against the most impossible odds, most of the crew were still only boys. Just out of high school. You can see how careless they are at the start of the clip. Just every day ordinary boys—not fully aware that the whole Allied world was watching them and praying for them on their 24th mission.
The poem that is read here is actually called “An Irish Airman Foresees His Death” written by W.B. Yeats (one of Ireland’s all time greatest poets) in 1919 at the close of WWI about that generation’s air corps—and the sober acceptance of the odds each airman faced every time he took to the sky.
The poem is not about the death of an airman at all. It’s about the mental calculus an airman performs before taking flight to keep his mind focused on the Now, so that he would have a real fighting chance of returning home in one piece. What romantic notions he lets go of, and what realistic acceptances he has to make.
You can see, when called to read from his poems, Danny (Eric Stoltz) decides to instead recite from memory (also an Irish poetic tradition) the Yeats poem. Because his crew, who were just horsing around, while waiting for their orders to start their final mission—-they all needed to hear this sobering story from the Airman from the previous world war. They needed to hear it so they too could focus on the Now. And have their own real chance of coming home safely. Which—-they did. And that is an actual part of our history.
Now those two wars were fought in small part by women too but mostly by men, especially on the front. Make no mistake here and now though—-this war against the Corona Virus—THIS is the Third World War. It may not be talked about that way yet, but it surely will be by those who assign names to wars. And this one is flipped, there are men fighting too but, we all know, it’s a great deal more women on the front here.
So today’s search of the archive yields this excerpt from the Memphis Belle and this Yeats poem—-because the Peak of the Virus is upon us all, you and your colleagues most of all—-so like those boys who fought wars before you, now’s the time to most sober your mind and most become one with the Now.
Suspend concern for the past and the future in order to balance them. Suspend thoughts of life and death. Fight in the Now and stay focused only on each task at hand, one by one. Each day, only that, until this war is over and won.
Because beyond needing to hear that, you already have all the talent and skill you need to emerge from this victorious and come home to a hero’s celebration. And you will!
Everyone is with you. I have been and always will be with you. But I am also most with you in this Now!
Hold your head high. You are one of our heroes, and this time not only of our nation or of our allies, you are one of our World’s Heroes!
I love you so much! And I’m so proud of you!
“An Irish Airman Foresees His Death”
by William Butler Yeats
I know that I shall meet my fate
Somewhere among the clouds above;
Those that I fight I do not hate
Those that I guard I do not love;
My country is Kiltartan Cross,
My countrymen Kiltartan’s poor,
No likely end could bring them loss
Or leave them happier than before.
Nor law, nor duty bade me fight,
Nor public man, nor cheering crowds,
A lonely impulse of delight
Drove to this tumult in the clouds;
I balanced all, brought all to mind,
The years to come seemed waste of breath,
A waste of breath the years behind
In balance with this life, this death.
With everything that’s going on in the world I know it can be stressful. That’s what I’ve created this blog for. Feel free to send in questions for advice, thoughts, feelings, fangirling even! I will try my best to answer them all in the best possible way. I am by no means a doctor. I’m just trying to make the best out of an icky situation. Please stay home and stay safe. And remember that it’s okay to not be okay. Xx -K
PS.: I’m always here if you need me 😉
Let go and let be.
People are mad over stuff they didn’t even checked first if it’s the truth or not. Anyway, we can’t do anything about it. No matter how hard you try to explain something, if they already had a conclusion, it won’t matter.
I try to think of everything
Which means I inevitably always forget something,
So every day can be a fun little game
Of self forgiveness and acceptance.
#REDinstead aesthetic because it’s April 2nd and Fuck Autism Speaks.
A poem by Tuesday Hofmann
I’ve come to find that each passing season is an aesthetic in itself, each month is sitting on your doorstep, a love letter waiting to be opened.
January and February were much more meticulous, written with pen as dark as midnight, containing words that were straightforward and honest. April resembled that of a 12 year old girls diary, hopeful and romantic, I’s dotted with hearts, simple and sweet, like a childhood dream.
October’s printing was dark and messy, containing more black scribbles than words. The hot- blooded scratches and tornados pressed against the page seemed to grab you by the braids and spit in your face. The words of august were light and barely visible,written playfully with yellow pastel crayons, but as you traced your finger along the paper you felt the sun and jovial nature blazing through your fingertips.
July’s words washed over you like San Diego waves, July was full of short sentences, but there was so much among the unspoken. The ink of December smelled just like hot coffee and melancholy.
November’s words were too big and they seemed to burn and rip apart the page, November’s love letters made you feel like a campfire trying to survive in the pouring rain. November’s words felt like drowning, June’s, on the other hand, felt like taking your first breath.
Do not let the years fly away,
Do not let the days pass you by,
because, I’ve come to find,
Love letters, though seemingly dormant, if ignored, will grow blue wings and kiss you goodbye.