We Are All One In Spirit. May We All Stay On The Red Path
-
Dellarine
- Female
- south lyon mich.
- United States
- Share
- Blog Posts (3)
- Discussions
- Events
- Groups (6)
- Photos (41)
- Photo Albums
- Videos
Music
Dellarine's Groups
-
Prayers and Blessings
56 members
-
ANIMAL LOVERS..
25 members
-
Cherokee People
62 members
-
Guardian Spirit
58 members
-
Earthcouncil
88 members
Welcome,Spiritedwolf Dell
Dellarine's Photos
About
Birthdays
Birthdays Today
Badge
Award Daily
please vote for our network, we are now a 1 Award website, a click to vote website that will give this site awards depending on how many votes there are, so click every day to give your vote!
Thank you from NativeLand.
Award Votes
10,000 votes - Platinum Award
5,000 votes - Gold Award
2,500 votes - Silver Award
1,000 votes - Bronze Award
300 votes - Pewter Award
100 votes - Copper Award
© 2009 Created by Edmond Lonewolf (Uhisati Wahya) on Ning. Create Your Own Social Network
Comment Wall (85 comments)
You need to be a member of NativeLand to add comments!
Join this social network
Spicecomments.com - Native American Comments
HAVE A WONDERFUL WEEK !
" FEARING MISTAKES "
We fear mistakes more than anything else. Mistakes bring
on ridicule. Mistakes expose the unsure, frail and diffident
hiding within.
Can anyone brag of living a mistake free life? Perhaps if
they were to spend their days on an armchair by the
fireside. A live of doing this is half-lived, wasted and
incomplete.
Fear of making mistakes holds you back from doing many
things. Ultimately too many joys go undiscovered. Regrets
smother you and you become even more fearful. It's a
vicious cycle.
Remember that nobody is above you. Others may know more,
but they have also walked the same path before you.
To get to where they are standing, you may have to make a
mistake or two. So what, why not feel the joy you deserve
and go for it?
" THE TWO CHOICES WE FACE "
Each of us has two distinct choices to make about what we will do with our lives. The first choice we can make is
to be less than we have the capacity to be. To earn less. To have less. To read less and think less. To try less and
discipline ourselves less. These are the choices that lead to an empty life. These are the choices that, once made,
lead to a life of constant apprehension instead of a life of wondrous anticipation.
And the second choice? To do it all! To become all that we can possibly be. To read every book that we possibly can.
To earn as much as we possibly can. To give and share as much as we possibly can. To strive and produce and
accomplish as much as we possibly can. All of us have the choice.
To do or not to do. To be or not to be. To be all or to be less or to be nothing at all.
Like the tree, it would be a worthy challenge for us all to stretch upward and outward to the full measure of our capabilities.
Why not do all that we can, every moment that we can, the best that we can, for as long as we can?
Our ultimate life objective should be to create as much as our talent and ability and desire will permit. To settle for doing
less than we could do is to fail in this worthiest of undertakings.
Results are the best measurement of human progress. Not conversation. Not explanation. Not justification. Results!
And if our results are less than our potential suggests that they should be, then we must strive to become more today than
we were the day before. The greatest rewards are always reserved for those who bring great value to themselves and the
world around them as a result of whom and what they have become.
" A TRUCKERS LAST DISPATCH "
I write this poem,
For truckers alone.
As they hear there loved ones,
On the other end of the phone.
They carry there goods,
To a preset goal.
Don't care what they carry,
Only know they must roll.
White line fever,
I hear it's been called.
When some poor, tired driver,
To sleep has been lulled.
Pushing to fast and hard,
Whachting and following the line
Hoping that when he gets home,
That all will be fine.
But now it has him,
In it's horrible grip.
Could this be the end,
Or even his last trip.
His wheels hit the gravel,
He jerks awake.
Tries to regain control.
His foot on the brakes.
Then he thinks to himself,
About his family waiting at home.
And wonders what drove him,
To endless roam.
He looks to the heaveans,
Please don't let me die.
A truckers last dispatch,
To his dispatcher in the sky.
Written By
Edmond Lonewolf
Copyright © Lonewolf Inc2009 All rights reserved.
View All Comments