'Course, I have a PC, which just means I think of things like this:
because I really probably ought to have gotten a Mac.
Anyway, here's the next installment from my grandmother, Tawanka:
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(January 3, 1999)
Dare to believe in miracles. Look beyond the mud on the windshield, beyond the impossible, and know life is more than anguish and stress. Reach out to someone, when your heart is too heavy to feel the sunlight or to taste the rain. Rid yourself of dark thought and melancholy. Open your mind to fresh air, to the unlimited music in your soul.
Thoreau wrote of waking in the night to hear a strain of music dying away------travelers singing. He said his whole being was so expanded and infinitely and divinely related that he knew how narrow his own thinking had been.
The Indian always teach their young to listen. We hear not the crash of cymbals or the noise that rides the airwaves------but the sweet song of the meadow, the even rhythmic sounds of nature. It is here where the angel sings.
Speak to yourself in spiritual songs, singing and making melody in your heart to the Lord.
Peace, Tawanka
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