tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-62818592821948146162024-02-18T20:34:07.681-08:00metempsychosisSmall Acts of Love and Rebellionhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11919009541788628068noreply@blogger.comBlogger12125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6281859282194814616.post-58500216199156777742011-02-06T07:31:00.000-08:002011-02-06T07:44:59.942-08:00Trying to understand that all problems come from within. Constantly reminding my self to ask <span style="font-style: italic;">why</span> I'm feeling this why. If I remember, before I react, I am usually alright. The trouble is remembering in the first place. It's difficult to break old habits. We know this. Habits of the mind are even harder.Small Acts of Love and Rebellionhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11919009541788628068noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6281859282194814616.post-55646647132135244262010-12-28T14:42:00.000-08:002010-12-28T14:48:10.445-08:00It gets dark and it gets tough.<br />I see my self in the mirror,<br />There are no more songs to sing along to.<br />There is a bed,<br />There is my life,<br />Difficult to stomach,<br />The only chance I've got.Small Acts of Love and Rebellionhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11919009541788628068noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6281859282194814616.post-66191979173547672482010-12-28T14:40:00.000-08:002010-12-28T14:41:19.407-08:00<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghinQ3IdyWTQaKJUJlML1w7vYTuJo2vSsfVIPfqICW8ENEbIQ-ZxCnGiykIFipAnCOGISgeH3PW3koC-U_cG9F3IAGgpbNuwXZGFEEMjpKdxdC8t3LEqE9sbftdV0jtiGn1dhEuzCJi1VZ/s1600/tumblr_l8599exsTV1qzytuco1_500.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 328px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghinQ3IdyWTQaKJUJlML1w7vYTuJo2vSsfVIPfqICW8ENEbIQ-ZxCnGiykIFipAnCOGISgeH3PW3koC-U_cG9F3IAGgpbNuwXZGFEEMjpKdxdC8t3LEqE9sbftdV0jtiGn1dhEuzCJi1VZ/s400/tumblr_l8599exsTV1qzytuco1_500.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5555866925066355506" border="0" /></a>Small Acts of Love and Rebellionhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11919009541788628068noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6281859282194814616.post-8046578961651548252010-12-28T14:39:00.001-08:002010-12-28T14:39:47.453-08:00<h3>“Head, Heart” by Lydia Davis </h3> <p>Heart weeps.<br />Head tries to help heart.<br />Head tells heart how it is, again:<br />You will lose the ones you love. They will all go. But even the earth will go, someday.<br />Heart feels better, then.<br />But the words of head do not remain long in the ears of heart.<br />Heart is so new to this.<br />I want them back, says heart.<br />Head is all heart has.<br />Help, head. Help heart.</p>Small Acts of Love and Rebellionhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11919009541788628068noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6281859282194814616.post-23464925820650797122010-08-28T06:37:00.000-07:002010-12-26T11:43:23.191-08:00<blockquote></blockquote><blockquote><br /></blockquote>Small Acts of Love and Rebellionhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11919009541788628068noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6281859282194814616.post-8800702651297803602010-08-25T11:40:00.000-07:002010-08-25T12:10:02.103-07:00Saying Goodbye. Saying Hello.<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjILMAePB8XnWLNvYWadoHu4t7wufBKMVwQKT4COeN7LsvlnEYuU8ehdabMlR3j7JMRLtdPnOh0ZrwwWRVkQjExUtKU3b1OxImuqEAcXrhzjWsKzS0dcvnZqIcO8WStOaV66vTb_hAaRKfJ/s1600/shakramoonvalleyastrologer.com"><img style="float: right; margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; cursor: pointer; width: 232px; height: 321px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjILMAePB8XnWLNvYWadoHu4t7wufBKMVwQKT4COeN7LsvlnEYuU8ehdabMlR3j7JMRLtdPnOh0ZrwwWRVkQjExUtKU3b1OxImuqEAcXrhzjWsKzS0dcvnZqIcO8WStOaV66vTb_hAaRKfJ/s400/shakramoonvalleyastrologer.com" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5509424836014329170" border="0" /></a><br />It's an odd feeling, leaving the old behind. Indescribable, yet at times so tangible. Descriptions perched on the tip of my tongue, like a skilled but nervous diver on the edge of the high board, squinting at the ant-like people below. Waiting, just waiting. I want to tell you what it feels like and then in a moment it's gone. Jumped off the board or climbed down the ladder. Either way. Please understand... this is not a bad thing. The complete opposite. I want more. More of being on the edge. More of seeing how close I can get before I realize the outcome of the high diver. Which end was chosen? I smile either way. If I can explain it, I open. If I can't, I open. Either way I win. The word <span style="font-style: italic;">open </span>has taken on a new meaning. A physical feeling inside my chest. The fourth chakra. A game I play with my self. Can I feel the energy eminating from behind the thick milky colured sternum? If I can't, I simply open. It's another win win situation.<br /><br />This new found awareness is causing crows feet form around my eyes in the best way possible. Muscles in my face, around my mouth, in my lips, my cheeks, small delicate fibers I had forgotten about are getting a work out of their very own. Words that sat idle in my mind are being used with gusto. Glorious being a favorite of late. I can't help it I want to say to everyone I see. I can't help it. I finally feel like I understand why life is beautiful. And that realization, that real realization of the realist sort is so very evident on my face and I love every minute of it.Small Acts of Love and Rebellionhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11919009541788628068noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6281859282194814616.post-55984269299658315722010-08-21T07:56:00.001-07:002010-08-21T07:56:56.613-07:00In Michael Robins’s class minus one <br />by Bob Hicok<br /><br />At the desk where the boy sat, he sees the Chicago River.<br />It raises its hand.<br />It asks if metaphor should burn.<br />He says fire is the basis for all forms of the mouth.<br />He asks, why did you fill the boy with your going?<br />I didn't know a boy had been added to me, the river says.<br />Would you have given him back if you knew?<br />I think so, the river says, I have so many boys in me,<br /> I'm worn out stroking eyes looking up at the day.<br />Have you written a poem for us? he asks the river,<br /> and the river reads its poem,<br /> and the other students tell the river<br /> it sounds like a poem the boy would have written,<br /> that they smell the boy's cigarettes<br />in the poem, they feel his teeth<br />biting the page.<br />And the river asks, did this boy dream of horses?<br /> because I suddenly dream of horses, I suddenly dream.<br />They're in a circle and the river says, I've never understood<br /> round things, why would leaving come back<br /> to itself?<br />And a girl makes a kiss with her mouth and leans it<br /> against the river, and the kiss flows away<br /> but the river wants it back, the river makes sounds<br /> to go after the kiss.<br />And they all make sounds for the river to carry to the boy.<br />And the river promises to never surrender the boy's shape<br /> to the ocean.Small Acts of Love and Rebellionhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11919009541788628068noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6281859282194814616.post-4692622880316075642010-08-17T11:58:00.000-07:002010-08-17T16:26:31.318-07:00Perspective.<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDO0I-rgkUXaQHiL7A-yy2IjkosIW-KIf8RJBDNanEw1bq0HBB19ZgV5j3akj4yS_wlwxRBqdzP51j1g9AESHJP3KDN7JwbQ_c7GxXL0eZkpr7EO6eW9IKTwYGnh5QLLqOyEtP1J-stDVZ/s1600/DSC_0734.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 265px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDO0I-rgkUXaQHiL7A-yy2IjkosIW-KIf8RJBDNanEw1bq0HBB19ZgV5j3akj4yS_wlwxRBqdzP51j1g9AESHJP3KDN7JwbQ_c7GxXL0eZkpr7EO6eW9IKTwYGnh5QLLqOyEtP1J-stDVZ/s400/DSC_0734.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5506520444410341634" /></a><br /><br /><center>Failing and Flying <br />by Jack Gilbert<br /><br />Everyone forgets that Icarus also flew.<br />It's the same when love comes to an end,<br />or the marriage fails and people say<br />they knew it was a mistake, that everybody<br />said it would never work. That she was <br />old enough to know better. But anything<br />worth doing is worth doing badly.<br />Like being there by that summer ocean<br />on the other side of the island while<br />love was fading out of her, the stars <br />burning so extravagantly those nights that<br />anyone could tell you they would never last.<br />Every morning she was asleep in my bed<br />like a visitation, the gentleness in her<br />like antelope standing in the dawn mist.<br />Each afternoon I watched her coming back<br />through the hot stony field after swimming,<br />the sea light behind her and the huge sky<br />on the other side of that. Listened to her<br />while we ate lunch. How can they say <br />the marriage failed? Like the people who<br />came back from Provence (when it was Provence)<br />and said it was pretty but the food was greasy.<br />I believe Icarus was not failing as he fell,<br />but just coming to the end of his triumph.</center>Small Acts of Love and Rebellionhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11919009541788628068noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6281859282194814616.post-6508677791290157202010-08-17T07:10:00.000-07:002010-08-21T08:00:29.422-07:00Taking back the body.<span style="font-size:130%;">It was all adding up to this moment. The final test of acceptance. The bed was soft. My thighs and stomach were softer. I ran my hands over them, feeling every bump, every mole, every inch of smooth, silky, alabaster skin. I let my hands slid down my legs. Massaging the raised, inflamed continents of my body. My natural tattoos. Further down, strong, thick ankles. A quiet thank you slipped from my lips. Then louder. Honest, genuine love flowed from inside. I thanked every part of my body I had ever spoken down to. Legs, ankles, feet, toes. They had and will continue to carry me all over the world. They propelled me on a rusty, blue, bike. A bike that carried both my mother and father at different times in their lives. My father, in a suit on his way home from the train. My mother, with a baby on the back and another child <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">peddling</span> behind her as they rode around the lake. I thanked my stomach for allowing me to digest the most divine, <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3">luscious</span>, food. My head, with its ears, eyes, mouth and nose. Gateways to so many glorious pieces of life. Thank you. Thank you. You are wonderful, marvelous, majestic. You are the best you that ever existed.<br />Later explaining it to my love I said with a <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4">new found</span> confidence, if my body was a friend she would hate me. She would sit in her darkened room and cry. She would look in the mirror and she would hate what she saw. Why would I speak to a friend like that, I asked. Why would I speak to my body like that? If my body could have it would have deserted me years ago. I made a promise then, to thank it every single day.</span>Small Acts of Love and Rebellionhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11919009541788628068noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6281859282194814616.post-24527279081831052362010-08-15T21:04:00.001-07:002010-08-17T14:54:06.482-07:00Wood & Water, part 1<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5evBOI8OigSLHaO82EhB2ZJAAl311qDErOVSgGODJeSG0sjt8ZTjkbk0cz8KfEWjeI3aXyl2ElAHBE9IbFXTqr9JEAUgc5Kv6JPpU52kMcIKh8aJyp5c5fQz80i7LfAmrBpiuND-ec0_d/s1600/IMG_2556.JPG"><img style="float: right; margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; cursor: pointer; width: 186px; height: 248px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5evBOI8OigSLHaO82EhB2ZJAAl311qDErOVSgGODJeSG0sjt8ZTjkbk0cz8KfEWjeI3aXyl2ElAHBE9IbFXTqr9JEAUgc5Kv6JPpU52kMcIKh8aJyp5c5fQz80i7LfAmrBpiuND-ec0_d/s400/IMG_2556.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5506499304538592514" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="font-size:130%;">That summer I saw 3 cicadas. The first with my love on a walk. He pointed it out, crushed on <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">concrete by a dumpster near our house</span>. The other two I held in my hands. I enclosed each of them in triangles made from natures debris. Wood, a feather, <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">objects</span> found on the ground beneath our feet. One flew away leaving an empty shape. I wondered what it was that gave her enough strength to fly away from her new linear home. She had been still in my palm, surely on her last legs. The third was dead, but intact, not crushed like the first. It remained where I lay it, on the grass for another to find.<br />Before that summer I had never seen a cicada, though they filled the sticky Mississauga nights of my childhood with a constant buzzing. The sound wasn't important to a girl with roller skates strapped to her feet and tangles in her long, auburn, hair. Construction, I thought. Chainsaws in the distance. Or <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">crickets</span>. But I knew I was wrong. Later when I was a lonely teen in the throws of puberty I saw a nature special on TV. University students were studying these strange creatures. Seventeen years of their life spent underground only to emerge with enough time to mate before their life cycle reached its final stage. Loud enough to cause permanent hearing loss in humans if held just outside the ear. How did this two inch, obstreperous insect, the only constant sound of my summers, remain unseen for 27 years of my life? I felt later, that finding 3 in one summer must have meant something. What did this natural dweller of the dark soil have to teach me?</span>Small Acts of Love and Rebellionhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11919009541788628068noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6281859282194814616.post-36050932066288051572010-07-09T15:18:00.000-07:002010-08-15T22:04:02.509-07:00Humber River, July 8<div style="TEXT-ALIGN: center"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8xwmB_oWtDRQ_FLQzh_7UhKnA6ucvhaJtSXtlOnGuCI7Gr-Kf6ljcAP6LuiTkDgEG2Q4q0ZV10xCzj7lfZCDYxzcYvCQzYld0jVkYw2ocKumHbC6II55iuMkfRJdb3aSrdz8EoeJrL7q0/s1600/DSC_2363.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5492035839875142994" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: pointer; HEIGHT: 265px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8xwmB_oWtDRQ_FLQzh_7UhKnA6ucvhaJtSXtlOnGuCI7Gr-Kf6ljcAP6LuiTkDgEG2Q4q0ZV10xCzj7lfZCDYxzcYvCQzYld0jVkYw2ocKumHbC6II55iuMkfRJdb3aSrdz8EoeJrL7q0/s400/DSC_2363.JPG" border="0" /></a><br /></div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgfV-sokEQuSpGmjLp82sKvIOU5Y7Y75p87GbB_mK6fyGD4frEXCUom7_uq4d1BrgwZP56QBnxxXmtfelL0UQPvwUuENlZrbcDiScm0XOkfClk8a-MZWGAT1aUuEQ92BfNtU7vyg8OcqDbf/s1600/DSC_2380.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5492035830089967810" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: pointer; HEIGHT: 265px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgfV-sokEQuSpGmjLp82sKvIOU5Y7Y75p87GbB_mK6fyGD4frEXCUom7_uq4d1BrgwZP56QBnxxXmtfelL0UQPvwUuENlZrbcDiScm0XOkfClk8a-MZWGAT1aUuEQ92BfNtU7vyg8OcqDbf/s400/DSC_2380.JPG" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXJyCC_LHQLBky41IrP6_eNKv-5Y8WF6FC0HmpqoEJTZbt6qYxGnAfr_ZD52PULsnkv4d8OK4tY3vGuEmWopiK5wXpdiELSbn5WJ69C0oWfatU2cBElOv2OHh4JVDprNrFBfkAM5uosL41/s1600/DSC_2355.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5492035820258087346" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: pointer; HEIGHT: 265px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXJyCC_LHQLBky41IrP6_eNKv-5Y8WF6FC0HmpqoEJTZbt6qYxGnAfr_ZD52PULsnkv4d8OK4tY3vGuEmWopiK5wXpdiELSbn5WJ69C0oWfatU2cBElOv2OHh4JVDprNrFBfkAM5uosL41/s400/DSC_2355.JPG" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvg-pXV-IKi19yfs_jltCV03nYTv0hrGpufwH46ffY9zTaYdV387qAdRgP0TbqeuthRkBcNtOMSQmetS0N3_YdL4sxE9SLOsmf9tZUt9T5DO6ubWdYT4wUPd7PmDoKum69pbeW1PsM5T6O/s1600/DSC_2271.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5492035812591851346" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: pointer; HEIGHT: 265px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvg-pXV-IKi19yfs_jltCV03nYTv0hrGpufwH46ffY9zTaYdV387qAdRgP0TbqeuthRkBcNtOMSQmetS0N3_YdL4sxE9SLOsmf9tZUt9T5DO6ubWdYT4wUPd7PmDoKum69pbeW1PsM5T6O/s400/DSC_2271.JPG" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfMwlPCoKAQCC2br_OVcRHvfH3t_SwsLtfAGEfCG08zj0_fGDu8PRwmE95ki8h2Gr5V4hA0u_fklnd3uj31Fc4bjKUd40d0QuuuF6ZHQ5-rSuGqmDby2YGanR3mGsHsACzgcaH3rUV6NGM/s1600/DSC_2262.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5492035808338144274" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: pointer; HEIGHT: 265px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfMwlPCoKAQCC2br_OVcRHvfH3t_SwsLtfAGEfCG08zj0_fGDu8PRwmE95ki8h2Gr5V4hA0u_fklnd3uj31Fc4bjKUd40d0QuuuF6ZHQ5-rSuGqmDby2YGanR3mGsHsACzgcaH3rUV6NGM/s400/DSC_2262.JPG" border="0" /></a>Small Acts of Love and Rebellionhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11919009541788628068noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6281859282194814616.post-43726565590849240342010-07-05T12:30:00.000-07:002010-07-05T12:33:36.218-07:00<h2 class="me">me·tem·psy·cho·sis</h2><span class="pronset"> <span class="show_ipapr" style="display: none;"><span class="prondelim">/</span><span class="pron">məˌtɛm<img class="luna-Img" src="http://sp.dictionary.com/dictstatic/dictionary/graphics/luna/thinsp.png" alt="" border="0" />səˈkoʊ<img class="luna-Img" src="http://sp.dictionary.com/dictstatic/dictionary/graphics/luna/thinsp.png" alt="" border="0" />sɪs</span><span class="pron">,</span> <span class="pron">-ˌtɛmp-</span><span class="pron">,</span> <span class="pron">ˌmɛt<img class="luna-Img" src="http://sp.dictionary.com/dictstatic/dictionary/graphics/luna/thinsp.png" alt="" border="0" />əm<img class="luna-Img" src="http://sp.dictionary.com/dictstatic/dictionary/graphics/luna/thinsp.png" alt="" border="0" />saɪ-</span><span class="prondelim">/</span> <a href="http://dictionary.reference.com/help/luna/IPA_pron_key.html" target="_blank"><img class="luna-Img" src="http://sp.dictionary.com/dictstatic/g/d/dictionary_questionbutton_default.gif" onmouseover="swapLunaImage('default', this);" onmouseout="swapLunaImage('selected', this);" border="0" /></a> <span class="pron_toggle" style="display: inline;"><a class="pronlink" onclick="javascript:show_sp()" onmouseout="status='';return true;" onmouseover="status='Click to toggle pronunciation';return true;" alt="Toggle for Spelled" title="Click to show spelled">Show Spell</a></span></span><span class="show_spellpr" style="display: inline;"><span class="prondelim"></span><span class="pron">m<span class="ital-inline">uh</span>-tem-s<span class="ital-inline">uh</span>-<span class="boldface">koh</span>-sis</span><span class="pron"><br /><br />T</span></span></span><span id="hotword"><span style="cursor: default; background-color: transparent;" id="hotword" name="hotword" onmouseover="this.style.cursor='default'" onmouseout="this.style.backgroundColor='transparent'" onclick="this.style.backgroundColor='#b5d5ff';return hotWord(this);">he</span> <span style="cursor: default; background-color: transparent;" id="hotword" name="hotword" onmouseover="this.style.cursor='default'" onmouseout="this.style.backgroundColor='transparent'" onclick="this.style.backgroundColor='#b5d5ff';return hotWord(this);">transmigration</span> <span style="cursor: default; background-color: transparent;" id="hotword" name="hotword" onmouseover="this.style.cursor='default'" onmouseout="this.style.backgroundColor='transparent'" onclick="this.style.backgroundColor='#b5d5ff';return hotWord(this);">of</span> <span style="cursor: default; background-color: transparent;" id="hotword" name="hotword" onmouseover="this.style.cursor='default'" onmouseout="this.style.backgroundColor='transparent'" onclick="this.style.backgroundColor='#b5d5ff';return hotWord(this);">the</span> <span style="cursor: default; background-color: transparent;" id="hotword" name="hotword" onmouseover="this.style.cursor='default'" onmouseout="this.style.backgroundColor='transparent'" onclick="this.style.backgroundColor='#b5d5ff';return hotWord(this);">soul,</span> <span style="cursor: default; background-color: transparent;" id="hotword" name="hotword" onmouseover="this.style.cursor='default'" onmouseout="this.style.backgroundColor='transparent'" onclick="this.style.backgroundColor='#b5d5ff';return hotWord(this);">esp.</span> <span id="hotword" name="hotword" onmouseover="this.style.cursor='default'" onmouseout="this.style.backgroundColor='transparent'" onclick="this.style.backgroundColor='#b5d5ff';return hotWord(this);">the</span> <span style="cursor: default; background-color: transparent;" id="hotword" name="hotword" onmouseover="this.style.cursor='default'" onmouseout="this.style.backgroundColor='transparent'" onclick="this.style.backgroundColor='#b5d5ff';return hotWord(this);">passage</span> <span style="cursor: default; background-color: transparent;" id="hotword" name="hotword" onmouseover="this.style.cursor='default'" onmouseout="this.style.backgroundColor='transparent'" onclick="this.style.backgroundColor='#b5d5ff';return hotWord(this);">of</span> <span id="hotword" name="hotword" onmouseover="this.style.cursor='default'" onmouseout="this.style.backgroundColor='transparent'" onclick="this.style.backgroundColor='#b5d5ff';return hotWord(this);">the</span> <span style="cursor: default; background-color: transparent;" id="hotword" name="hotword" onmouseover="this.style.cursor='default'" onmouseout="this.style.backgroundColor='transparent'" onclick="this.style.backgroundColor='#b5d5ff';return hotWord(this);">soul</span> <span style="cursor: default; background-color: transparent;" id="hotword" name="hotword" onmouseover="this.style.cursor='default'" onmouseout="this.style.backgroundColor='transparent'" onclick="this.style.backgroundColor='#b5d5ff';return hotWord(this);">after</span> <span style="cursor: default; background-color: transparent;" id="hotword" name="hotword" onmouseover="this.style.cursor='default'" onmouseout="this.style.backgroundColor='transparent'" onclick="this.style.backgroundColor='#b5d5ff';return hotWord(this);">death</span> <span style="cursor: default; background-color: transparent;" id="hotword" name="hotword" onmouseover="this.style.cursor='default'" onmouseout="this.style.backgroundColor='transparent'" onclick="this.style.backgroundColor='#b5d5ff';return hotWord(this);">from</span> <span style="cursor: default; background-color: transparent;" id="hotword" name="hotword" onmouseover="this.style.cursor='default'" onmouseout="this.style.backgroundColor='transparent'" onclick="this.style.backgroundColor='#b5d5ff';return hotWord(this);">a</span> <span style="cursor: default; background-color: transparent;" id="hotword" name="hotword" onmouseover="this.style.cursor='default'" onmouseout="this.style.backgroundColor='transparent'" onclick="this.style.backgroundColor='#b5d5ff';return hotWord(this);">human</span> <span style="cursor: default; background-color: transparent;" id="hotword" name="hotword" onmouseover="this.style.cursor='default'" onmouseout="this.style.backgroundColor='transparent'" onclick="this.style.backgroundColor='#b5d5ff';return hotWord(this);">or</span> <span style="cursor: default; background-color: transparent;" id="hotword" name="hotword" onmouseover="this.style.cursor='default'" onmouseout="this.style.backgroundColor='transparent'" onclick="this.style.backgroundColor='#b5d5ff';return hotWord(this);">animal</span> <span style="cursor: default; background-color: transparent;" id="hotword" name="hotword" onmouseover="this.style.cursor='default'" onmouseout="this.style.backgroundColor='transparent'" onclick="this.style.backgroundColor='#b5d5ff';return hotWord(this);">to</span> <span style="cursor: default; background-color: transparent;" id="hotword" name="hotword" onmouseover="this.style.cursor='default'" onmouseout="this.style.backgroundColor='transparent'" onclick="this.style.backgroundColor='#b5d5ff';return hotWord(this);">some</span> <span style="cursor: default; background-color: transparent;" id="hotword" name="hotword" onmouseover="this.style.cursor='default'" onmouseout="this.style.backgroundColor='transparent'" onclick="this.style.backgroundColor='#b5d5ff';return hotWord(this);">other</span> <span style="cursor: default; background-color: transparent;" id="hotword" name="hotword" onmouseover="this.style.cursor='default'" onmouseout="this.style.backgroundColor='transparent'" onclick="this.style.backgroundColor='#b5d5ff';return hotWord(this);">human</span> <span style="cursor: default; background-color: transparent;" id="hotword" name="hotword" onmouseover="this.style.cursor='default'" onmouseout="this.style.backgroundColor='transparent'" onclick="this.style.backgroundColor='#b5d5ff';return hotWord(this);">or</span> <span style="cursor: default; background-color: transparent;" id="hotword" name="hotword" onmouseover="this.style.cursor='default'" onmouseout="this.style.backgroundColor='transparent'" onclick="this.style.backgroundColor='#b5d5ff';return hotWord(this);">animal</span> <span style="cursor: default; background-color: transparent;" id="hotword" name="hotword" onmouseover="this.style.cursor='default'" onmouseout="this.style.backgroundColor='transparent'" onclick="this.style.backgroundColor='#b5d5ff';return hotWord(this);">body.<br /><br /></span></span><span id="hotword"><span style="cursor: default; background-color: transparent;" id="hotword" name="hotword" onmouseover="this.style.cursor='default'" onmouseout="this.style.backgroundColor='transparent'" onclick="this.style.backgroundColor='#b5d5ff';return hotWord(this);">To</span> <span style="cursor: default; background-color: transparent;" id="hotword" name="hotword" onmouseover="this.style.cursor='default'" onmouseout="this.style.backgroundColor='transparent'" onclick="this.style.backgroundColor='#b5d5ff';return hotWord(this);">pass</span> <span style="cursor: default; background-color: transparent;" id="hotword" name="hotword" onmouseover="this.style.cursor='default'" onmouseout="this.style.backgroundColor='transparent'" onclick="this.style.backgroundColor='#b5d5ff';return hotWord(this);">from</span> <span style="cursor: default; background-color: transparent;" id="hotword" name="hotword" onmouseover="this.style.cursor='default'" onmouseout="this.style.backgroundColor='transparent'" onclick="this.style.backgroundColor='#b5d5ff';return hotWord(this);">one</span> <span style="cursor: default; background-color: transparent;" id="hotword" name="hotword" onmouseover="this.style.cursor='default'" onmouseout="this.style.backgroundColor='transparent'" onclick="this.style.backgroundColor='#b5d5ff';return hotWord(this);">body</span> <span style="cursor: default; background-color: transparent;" id="hotword" name="hotword" onmouseover="this.style.cursor='default'" onmouseout="this.style.backgroundColor='transparent'" onclick="this.style.backgroundColor='#b5d5ff';return hotWord(this);">into</span> <span style="cursor: default; background-color: transparent;" id="hotword" name="hotword" onmouseover="this.style.cursor='default'" onmouseout="this.style.backgroundColor='transparent'" onclick="this.style.backgroundColor='#b5d5ff';return hotWord(this);">another</span></span>Small Acts of Love and Rebellionhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11919009541788628068noreply@blogger.com0