on conversation

when i am telling a story, it is not meant to be a good story, i am just telling a story. when i say story, i mean anything i am talking about, everything we say is simply a story that we tell, whether it be about politics, education, life in general, it's our side of the story. when you are speaking to me, telling me a story, i listen with an open heart and an open mind, because i care for you, and because you are speaking means that you care about what you are saying. in turn, i care about what you are saying, because it means something to you. our interactions with each other are interactions with ourselves. i think that interruptions are ways to say, what i have to say is more important.
on the other hand, i think that when you are telling a story, it should have significance, you should care about what you are saying, and not just enjoying the sound of your own voice.
i have begun testing the quality of what i think, before it comes out of my mouth, because i find that some things i say lack quality, they are not significant. i want you to know that i care about you because the stories that i tell contain the truth as i see it, and that i do not speak for the sound my voice makes, or the reaction i may get from you, but simply so that you may gain from the story i tell.
i have been quiet more often than not, it's because i'm listening. if i find no quality in the things i wish to say, i do not speak. sometimes it feels like an internal battle. sometimes i want to point out to the person i am speaking to that they are not respecting me, or the things i am saying, but i hope that because i listen, even when a person is telling a story that has no quality, they will see that it is important, and learn from it.
sometimes i slip up, sometimes i tell stories that do not matter, or say things that do not have quality, mostly at work. i find that at work people tend to be very self-concerned, and it is difficult to not feed into that.

funny, the way i am writing this sounds very much like the book i am reading, which is written by someone who doesn't know english very well. pardon my broken english :-)

the games of children

this moment is perfect, and this perfect moment is following a long succession of perfect moments. monday morning: got picked up by mom to go to my aunt's beautiful home in gold canyon, spent the day swimming, floating, and generally lying about, followed by a nap on the couch, only to be awoken for filet mignon and yummy potatoes. after dinner my mother and i went to denny's, drank coffee, and spoke of zen. then my lovely friends joined me as my mother left, we played pictionary, charades, and decided to go play hide and seek. 2 hours of giggling, hiding, and scaring ourselves silly while searching through a dark house for one another. to top it all off, we went to a park to play, swing, go down slides, and attempted to hang up-side down on the monkey-bars, and failed. i took many pictures as the sun came up. all in all, i'd say we had a jolly good time. now i am home, and reflecting on it all.

i started with too little sleep, and ended up sun-burnt and sandy. i will most likely sleep most of the day, and that's ok. there is a moral to this story, and it goes something like this; we are only alive in the present moment, we are doing exactly what we are supposed to be doing right now, and it doesn't matter what we are should be doing, or what we have to do the next day. this is the only moment we have, and to worry, dwell, or even hope for something in the future, is a waste of the moment we are living. this may be convoluted and dreamy, but it comes from the truth that i have found, so that has to be worth something, right?