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A memorable day in Holland-Dordrecht # 3 (my third video!)


Quite a while back I posted a French poem translated in English on Holland the authentic.
This country has a spell on me 🙂 I find it refreshing, rejuvenating, eco-friendly, positively charming and magical.
This time I’m posting a video of another memorable day… my photos accompanied by music.
Let me know what you think of it!

P.s I have put my three videos under the tittles:

1.A memorable day in Sounds of Nature – Waterfall # 1
2.A memorable day in Relaxing sea wave sounds # 2
3.A memorable day in Holland-Dordrecht # 3

Published on Sep 25, 2013
This is a tribute to a very beautiful country. I hope you will enjoy this third video I am publishing. Positive feedback is always welcome!
Category
Entertainment
License
Standard YouTube License

A day of our lives February 2010 Oa essay


©copyright2013owpp

©copyright2013owpp

A day of our lives
—————

Last night I felt like waiving it all. Does it happen to you too?
Ironically, the arguments I want to run away from are the very reason I will not give up.
Even if the scales prove otherwise, working my character defects is now the reason for me to stay on.
So, I am hanging on a thread, as a spider, slowly weaving my way, consolidating my web.
My thread is my connection to my Ă©lan vital. To what is home now. It keeps me linked to my sparkle. That is why I hold on, toil my way through. Anneal the base.
My thoughts shout. Build a wider faction, extensions!
Outreach calls are of paramount importance yet, I have been shying away from that assignment.

We tend to build protective walls around us, which need to be broken down at some point.
Some build fortresses throughout their lives, staking up watchmen to mark their borders that stretch out further and further away from their former territories and lose themselves in it. Opportunities for light and life shrinking away from their grasp as the ebbing of a tide, leaving its emblem to be stamped on by the carefree, merry vacationer.
Others stay jammed between the doors of desperation, forlorn in an ocean of slavery to some addiction or another, plaguing them constantly with thoughts and acting upon them in a half-slumber, as if it is their destiny, as if they had no choice in the matter.
They live in a no-man’s land. In the crepuscule. Passengers erring between countries restlessly, looking for comfort and finding none.
Solace, evading their days and nights. Their soul giving them no rest. Until they are bestowed with the gift of sagacity and composure.
The skills for living in the right sense. Fully, truly, joyfully and peacefully.
Those miracles can happen. It is only up to us to create the vessel to receive them.
All there is to do is hope to be awarded with the volition to shape, mold it, as a sturdy thick, impermeable, hermetically sealed receptacle that will enable us to treasure those gifts never letting them out of our sight,
Whatever the cost.