recipe

 

recipe for blf:

one heaping spoonful of oversensitivity

one pinch patience

one teensy, tiny dash of o.c.d.

one huge wallop of hormones

one squeeze of self-righteousness

one insanely huge hand-full of guilt for being self-righteous/not perfect

one bottle of purple, one yellow, one orange

eighty-seven ounces of humor, both with and against myself

forty-two thousand cups of love

add some curls and a friend crush on drew barrymore

sift in tons of spirituality and love for God

plus eighteen Millionmililiters of who-what-why-am-i-this-way?

and you have

a showeringhippie

recyclingfreak

rockstarwannabe

cubiclehating

natureloving

loveeveryonemediator

andwantstomakemoneydoingsomethingcreativewithherlife

middlesister

girlfriend

stepmom

friend

kid

whodoesn’tknowhowtobeagrownup

andisn’tsureshewantstofigureitout

lostbeautifullymessysoul.

 

what is your recipe?

what does your recipe need?

face to face time? yoga? volunteering? selflessness? patience? love? assurance?

if you could behold any thing or place without anything holding you back, what would you do? make? be?

THERE IS TOO MUCH GOOD, LOVE AND ADVENTURE OUT THERE NOT TO GET A LITTLE ON YOUR APRON ONCE IN A WHILE. . .

there is reason for your pain.  there is no suffering in vain. 

we each must speak our part to share the beat of others hearts. 

we need to know that what is inside us is worth our best effort.  IT IS.  there are fields of buttercups and sunflowers waiting for us beyond each hurt, enticing us to trek on, to move forward, and we must.  WE MUST.  do this trekking we must.

i am eternally chasing that kite string that will lift me beyond my fears, my doubts, and insecurities.  to view the sky as it is splendidly painted before me.  but maybe what is missing, and why my feet are so planted and molasses-y is why i need to stay here.  to make it right, to do what’s best.  to love so unconditionally that it overwhelms those around me, and they think of nothing but LOVE KINDNESS PEACE when they picture my face, or hear my voice.  that they know nothing of my tears, and pain, and sadness.  they only see the lovely sunbursts; the tangerine dreams.  that they are soaked with the turquoise waves of pure joy that i want to exude.  maybe i am just not running fast enough but strolling slowly enough to let the love expand my being so that i am one with the earth and its people and creatures that are such a essential part of my recipe.  like a human spongebob squarepants full of love. 

we will always chase the kite string, and we will always be chasing that string, and the frolic we inherently partake in, will be the best yet, as long as we remember, we are all chasing the same string, and we must be kind to each other on our journey.  always.

there is no recipe for this life, you must adjust.  make it your own.  there is no food photographer/prepper to come spray your life to unrealistic visual representations.  there will be fire alarms that go off when you burn the grilled cheese(likeme), but there will also be 4-tiered cakes of beauty and sugar frosting.  there is a timer though, for this life. don’t wait.  haste not my friends.  we are hungry for your truth – your best recipe.  tweak as necessary.  add a few, take a few away. be lovely, and you will have delicious recipes and i KNOW you will rise to perfection.

♥ ♥ ♥ quote from an aspring cook (me):

do not knead others, NEED them. ♥♥♥

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1 Comment

  1. Sarah

     /  September 10, 2010

    This one made me giggle …(well some parts!) Good work Bee boppin! Keep it up! 😉

    Reply

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