Tag Archives: amplification

Tethering our lives to love

It might seem hard to process the concept of being grateful for starting your day in tears. To feel something, anything, so keenly that the only possible response is a clench of your throat, Staples-Mill-Pond-Dam-Break-2-bigfollowed by the flooding of your eyes where salted droplets spill as over a millpond dam. I am not particular how this happens – only that it does. To feel this alive in sadness, in humility, in joy, in reverence, in gratitude, my truth is that I write best when I am so filled with emotion that the only outlet after the tears have dried, is my keyboard.

I have been bouncing the concept of tethering around for a couple of days but suddenly it was the bonds of an impossible-to-hold-in-your-hand love that proved to be the greatest measure of tethering.  Tether is an Old Norse word. Traditionally, tether meant a rope, chain, or similar which binds an animal to a fixed object so as to limit its range of movement but it can also mean the utmost extent or limit of one’s ability, endurance or resources. It’s been commandeered by the tech community to refer to connecting one mobile device to another (such as phone to a laptop) to share the Internet connection of one with the other so as to sync mobile tethercontent and actions between the devices either by a wireless LAN (local area network) such as a Wi-Fi or by physical means such as a cable through USB ports. This post about tethering is not about technology… nor is it about animal husbandry, but it is about connection –establishing it, maintaining it and pushing the boundaries of our conceived endurance to be something more.

In just sixteen days I leave the (rather dull) surety of my life of the last six years for something unknown. To be honest, the last six years have been the longest I have lived in any single place since marrying out of my childhood home 30 years ago. I am more gypsy than anything and Gypsybeing so planted has caused me to chafe just as any animal would be tethered to a fence or a building.  It is a test of my endurance, my abilities, and certainly my ability to perform superhuman (all legal) financial machinations, to do this. There is ABSOLUTELY no safety net (though I have listed my apartment on AirBnB and have sold most of my possessions on eBay in hopes of offsetting my collective expenses).  While I have leapt into the void in response to being pulled toward Croatia, I know that whatever awaits me is going to be trans-formative. That’s a good thing, to keep expanding and not to contract into some ever smaller portion of myself where fear rules and which can happen far too easily as we get older. But this action of mine is accompanied by a confluence of apprehension and exhilaration – the Swedes (bless them) have a word for this – Resfeber. With resfeber comes a totally illogical and travel anticipationunexpected need for ‘tethering’ myself with the familiarity of my pantry found in the packing of a duffle bag filled with teabags, Aztec Elixir Vosges drinking chocolate, dark Chia seeds, pumpkin seeds, golden flax seeds, Odwalla Superfood Bars and a long discontinued, exquisitely scented candle (I admit to hoarding three of these from when they were reasonably priced) from the defunct Henry Slatkin & Co. It’s utterly insane as intellectually I know that foodstuffs are only too easily available to purchase, Split being one of Croatia’s major urban areas as well as having immediate access to the harvest that can be found from the sea literally 50 meters from the apartment I am renting. It is because I currently can’t read more than a half dozen words in Croatian and none of them relates to food that I have taken this action – a safety net of sustenance until I can purchase honey, olive oil, yogurt, butter, flour, sugar and fresh vegetables. Some part of me feels weak to need this tether yet every nomad has carried provisions with them against uncertainty for tens of thousands of years.  I am managing resfeber with my tether of comfort – uniting the woman that I am in this moment and who I will become beginning the afternoon of the 6th of November – much as a child clings to its softie or binkie.

Earlier this morning the source of my tears was a video posted by a friend on her Facebook wall for two of her friends. Facebook (despite all the less than ethical machinations of the company) has developed something truly beautiful, likely on the success realised by Upworthy, called Facebook Stories. In this video (originally posted on Vimeo) a woman in São Paulo befriends a man who had been homeless for 35 years; a man, who but for the grace of God, who could be any of us. A man who bent by life still had the discipline to write his poetry every single day; this, kindness (2)perhaps more than the happy ending this woman brought about by her acts of compassion and kindness is what made me cry.  Our greatest selves are realised only in the extension of, being a vessel for, the amplification of the universal energy commonly known as love. His words expressed, her energies to empower those words. The connection to one another possible through social media that fostered a real community of support and an endless cascade of tears thousands of miles away; the pebble in the pond manifest, tethering ourselves to another (or a vast unknown collection of others) energetically.  We do as we have been done for – the coding of our DNA and the memories housed within the epigenetics of who we all are, our expectations, our will to survive or to create or to provide comfort it’s all “there” within each of us waiting to be connected, tethered to the rest of humanity. We can be envious, resentful and mean or we can take pleasure from the fact that what we give, who we are, is part of an endless ripple of love.

Friends have suggested that I am leaving them while also cheering my ‘bravery’ for doing this Croatian rentalwithout a plan, this action of mine isn’t either – it simply ‘is’. Life is shortened by each passing day – it is our duty to live it fully whilst we have the power to do so, to embrace impermanence with passion and commitment. The recent death of the younger brother of my friend Deborah and the discovery that both of my parents have been diagnosed with cancer served as the catalyst for booking my ticket. The 2″ square box of my parent’s entire lifetimes chafes at me even though we have not had contact in more than a decade of years. Facing such I recognised that I need to live more fully again. I also need to write again. Not sporadically but wholly committed to six to eight hours a day, every day for 88 days. My second book has no definition as yet but I know I will find it in salty tears at the edge of the Adriatic and the unexpected (but most welcome) kindnesses of people met as a result of social media who have become integral to my journey in this lifetime.

If you enjoy my blog please consider ‘buying me a cup of tea’ in your currency via PayPal to livelikeadog@gmail.com and do share it with your friends on Facebook, Google+ and Twitter – I am @TeresaFritschiTo order my book, please click on the cover art of my book below, thank you! 


The empty box.

DSCN9869Right now, sitting in all its rectangular glory on my living room carpet is a HUGE (48” tall) empty box. Its use is to be expected – to ship two chairs to their new home with their eBay buyer who lives in New Zealand (which is not to be expected). The fact that this box and its contents will soon travel nearly 9,000 miles has prompted me to view it as a metaphor for life – possibilities to carry us farther than we ever imagined – forcing me to re-examine what it means to be human, what it means to have a soul, what happens when we diverge from a conventional path, and in the end who really cares about conventionality?   In that my girlfriend Lynne says I am not the least bit conventional this blog post should remove all doubt.

My new friend Momo and I met through that odd convergence of both desiring to be someplace other than where we were, specifically Stockholm, and on an online dating site which mutually ‘chose us’ to share with the other thus fostering our visiting one another’s profiles. On his I read:

“The minute I heard my first love story I started looking for you, not knowing how blind that was. Lovers don’t finally meet somewhere. They’re in each other all along.” – Rumi 

Is there a person alive who, in their heart of hearts, doesn’t long to have this level of completion in the arms of another? Yet, as a man of 25 he wasn’t even in the range of men I had identified as ‘appropriate’.  Perhaps when a man is in his 60s dating a woman in her 80s it is not such a leap, I confess, I had a very real age bias against him for romantic viability.

My response to his first message:

“…Thank you for your kindness and message. When I woman reaches a ‘certain age’ she doesn’t actually expect a handsome man many years younger than she is to notice her or issue a compliment.”

To which he replied:

“You are welcome and these are facts not just compliments :).  I really never believed in men or women reaching “certain” age, we are/were born free of rules and restrictions but then we start following them and make our lives harder. The older people grow I guess the sexier and more mature yet the youth and beauty is (still) in the heart and soul. Our flames of desires and beauty is eternal and never changes, unless we change. I liked your profile, mind as well. I believe you are really sexy and beautiful lady. So what brings beautiful queen like you here? How did you maintain your beauty and beautiful soul?”

Oh, an ‘old soul’ – not easy to put one of those off.  Without expectation I was now receiving a gift, what was I going to do with it? What possibilities exist that I wished to explore? What was I going to shut off because of what other people might think? What might I learn (or re-learn) in connecting? Oh, yes, and to remind myself that this man was certainly not a child – he is actually a year older than my husband was when we married, old enough to know what he was seeking.

As someone who truly believes and embraces the idea that every person coming into our life has a message to convey, a quickening of our being that leaves us better, that there is no such thing as a coincidence, and, like that big empty cardboard box, this conversation was leading me to something worth exploring, even if I didn’t yet have cognition of what that might be.  What it is turning out to be is resonance, amplification and a synergy of philosophies.

In the length of time I have known him (which isn’t really fair as we’ve spoken in real time twice and never in person) Momo and I have explored the boundaries of Out of Body Experiences and Astral Projection (both very new to my intellectual pursuits and reality), the concept of heightened spirituality bringing greater responsibility to our physicality, how abstinence is infinitely preferable to sharing a casual f*ck because in doing so we totally mess up our auras with people who are perhaps not worthy of being ‘there’ in the first place, how the expansion of chakra energy isn’t about (commonly misconstrued) sex but our mindfulness setting us further along on our paths toward enlightenment, to at-one-ment, with the Divine.

We share, with soon-to-be-published author Sophie Fontanel, a belief that even witnessing perfect sensuality is more fulfilling than participating in something mediocre or base.  That in defining and cultivating our discernment rather than simply observing abstinence, in both of our cases long periods such as Ms. Fontanel embraced, has provided us with clarity around our own beings that would have human sexuality expert Alyssa Royce providing standing ovation – he practicing Tantric and I, ‘mindful sensuality’ as I refer to it. What’s more than this heightened sense of self-fulfillment and protection, is a pursuit of elegance and authenticity which has lead me to create (as Momo refers to it) “…your bed “nest”, it just gives a visual message to the future beloved where the magic will be made on all levels and your wise beautiful soul matches your hotness and feminine attractiveness :).” Image

And so while I battle the impact of societies imposed value of youth and conventional mores upon my psyche he kept repeating that all that was making me (in my mind also) less desirable was actually making me more so to him. Thank goodness physical distance separates us so I have time to process the connection and compatibility we share, and a whole big empty box of romantic, intellectual and spiritual possibilities to explore.

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The cave painters understood, just as Sun Tzu, Ben Franklin, and Georges Danton did, that effective communications (deployed using available technology) can realize extraordinary results.  The Founding Fathers of the United States would have thrilled to the amplification and resonance realized by the advent of social media. I rather like the idea of #freedom having a permanent hashtag, equally so #4July, Tienanmen, Bastille, and so forth. Freedom has always required eloquence and foot soldiers – words only inspire, there has always been the need for those willing to be cannon fodder, to risk their very lives to foster the change. As Tacitus recognized speaking out against the sated complacency of the status quo can be both dangerous and necessary.

It is the rare fortune of these days that one may think what one likes and say what one thinks.

To ravage, to slaughter, to usurp under false titles, they call empire; and where they make a desert, they call it peace.

~ Gaius Cornelius Tacitus c. 56 – c.117 AD (various translations)

And so, in this moment, Bulgaria, Brazil, Egypt, Turkey, Syria, Tibet… and, also a world standing up to right the imbalances and ills which plague all of us – human trafficking, climate change, neonicotinoids, fracking, water and food (in)security, avarice, sectarian violence, violence against women, violence against our planet.  Violence seems thematic and, I hate it.  I believe in something purer. Something of the truest nature of our being, of consciousness and love.

Two evenings’ ago I had the blessing of sharing Fourth of July celebrations with my neighbors Cliff and Jennilee and her boyfriend Tim. And this, like a handful of 4 July celebrations standing out in my memory for being truly extraordinary, also involved baseball.

Come with me to Fenway Park, home of my beloved Boston Red Sox and attend a game many years ago now with my friend Juan Carlos, a Cuban émigré (via Hungary and Canada) now fenwayAmerican citizen, and his Cuban brother-in-law. Here you ‘feel’ a 100 years (Fenway opened in 1912) of fellow spectators squeezed, layered together in the love of the game. The cherished Green Monster looms. The smell of baseball lingers—Cracker Jack©, hot dogs, ice cream and peanuts. Dads with their kids. “Cold beer here” chanted over and over to the point that even if you don’t really want one, you need one to complete your place in the montage. There is NO PLACE in America that resonates so sublimely about all that is great about this game and our country as Fenway Park on a bright blue day in July. When the Star-Spangled Banner played my eyes fill with tears of gratitude to be in this place with a man who took enormous risk to be able to sit here.  Humbled to be born here and not have to claw my way, the long way around, to home. The seats, far closer to the field than Kevin Costner and James Earl Jones enjoyed in Field of Dreams© are along the first base line, sunshine spills over us, I can hear in my head the refrain of a pitch perfect soliloquy:

“The one constant through all the years has been baseball. America has rolled by like an army of steamrollers. It’s been erased like a blackboard, rebuilt, and erased again. But baseball has marked the time. This field, this game, is a part of our past. It reminds us of all that once was good, and what could be again.”

—James Earl Jones, as Terrence Mann, in Field of Dreams (1989)

But this evening I am watching baseball played between the Red Sox Triple-A affiliate Pawtucket Red Sox and the Rochester Red Wings. These three friends have ‘treated me’ given the dearth of my current finances for such pleasures.  In 85 degree temperatures my neighbor Cliff kindly shares the coldest top two inches of his beer, which will help to give me a frightful hangover to recover from on 5 July. Behind us a family of dad, a physical stereotype of a US Marine but not actually, his mom, wife/mom and their three gorgeous kids file in, in front of us, four women and two men (also a family) sit. It is b-e-a-u-t-i-f-u-l, harmonious energy which surrounds us. In truth it is as perfect as it can possibly be, it is also humbling.  That too much of this perfection is taken for granted by all those 10,000+ people present. I feel it, but intellectually come to understand this as the evening unfolds. I discover that the father of the dad escaped Eastern Europe by jumping from a moving train taking him to a work camp during the Communist era following World War II.  From the family in front of me, the father in his late 80’s was among the Allied Forces at Normandy.

As fireworks light the clear night sky I find myself transported back to 1995 where I once stood on the flight deck of a United States Navy aircraft carrier a (rare, non-family member) guest on a July 4th Tiger Cruise. With absolute reverent silence amongst the more than 6,000 of us onboard, engines cut, that huge ship slipped into port in Norfolk, VA and, as our colors were solemnly struck, Lee Greenwood’s voice came over the public address system singing his anthem of God Bless the U.S.A. and my throat clenched, eyes filled, as it does now. The earmark of the evening is as the family behind us files out each of the children, encouraged in advance by their parents, stop to express their thanks to our World War II veteran. I cry harder as our elder neighbor, one of the diminishing numbers of The Greatest Generation, is so honored.

To all the “foot soldiers” who offer themselves as an instrument of disruption and change, whose efforts to make human dignity a real truth and who protect our planet with both passionate rhetoric and sometimes physical violence – my every gratitude and blessing.

If you enjoy my blog please consider ‘buying me a cup of tea’ in your currency via PayPal to livelikeadog@gmail.com and do share it with your friends on Facebook, Google+ and Twitter – I am @TeresaFritschiTo order my book, please click on the cover art of my book below, thank you! 



ImageThe radiator cover in my bathroom is vintage 1920s with a flat removable top, open back and a mesh front.  The top allows me to use it as a shelf for the ephemera of being a woman – jars of cotton rounds and Q-tips, a sublime Slatkin scented candle, a crystal bowl of sea glass collected from my travels, tweezers, Argan  oil – well, you get the idea. (Side note, the actor Michael Caine probably had it right that the secret to a long happy marriage is separate bathrooms!) The axiom of public relations of ‘perception is reality’ comes into play here, or rather my favorite variation on it ‘perception drives our reality’.

Lurking behind that radiator cover can surely be found the missing end caps to my lip and eye crayons, very likely the unique bathroom dust bunnies made up of towel lint and blow dried curls, perhaps a small binder clip used to keep my toothpaste tube ‘neat’. I intuitively know that there are tiny missing pieces to my collection of ‘girl stuff’ underneath it – I only need to clear off and remove the top, then lift the cover to reclaim them. In this case my perception and reality have fairly tiny ramifications.  Think about that for a minute. Strip away the obstacles to what you need to find and put things to right, back in harmony, on a course to the next phase of living.  The radiator cover (like all of the status quo aspects to which we cling) hides uncomfortable truths – a metaphor for denying possibilities.  Each of us ‘should be’ living with the greatest level of authenticity imaginable, exploring other dimensions of reality that as children we would certainly explore because we wouldn’t over think the “what if’s”.  This is what I mean by ‘perception drives our reality’.

Right now I am poised for life altering change because I got out of my own way. I have never lived anywhere (since childhood) in the same place as long as the city I have currently made my home, and it bothers me, a lot! I have existed here “in between” the best person I have been in my past and the one I wish to be in my future. Perhaps all of the energies expended on the life I previously lived required this bubble of time to re-calibrate but I have felt stifled. It took a casual comment via text from a friend that read “your life is love” to shift me out of complacency and take dramatic steps toward merging his perception with my reality.  As I do so I am more aware of other people dear to me doing the same – almost as if the proactive steps are amplifying and my re-calibrated mindfulness is catching these actions like an internal dream-catcher to draw on and to honor for the benefit of others’ realities shifting. ImageMy ‘nephew’ Ryan is chasing his reality in playing professional baseball for a team founded in 1917 (not yet the MLB league but on the path to ‘being in the show’ – scroll down if you click) who just received a ‘blessing’ from Baseball Hall of Fame left-handed pitcher Tom Glavine (my eyes welled up with tears of gratitude in seeing this Facebook post). My girlfriend Jennifer (most of the time) has stopped trying to bend the local population to embrace her incredible gifts and in doing so is taking her rightful place (as envisioned by her 8-year old self) on the global stage as a thought leader and influencer, a key note speaker and highly valued contributor to fostering change through social media and traditional platforms.

Last evening I met a new man through OKCupid, when I woke this morning he had sent a message inviting me to connect with him via Skype, and that turned into an hour long, highly delightful discovery of ‘mutuality’ – from tea drinking and the use of spices, ley lines, and, amongst other topics, the ideal partner being a confluence of intellectual, spiritual, emotional and physical energy. “On paper” Francisco is nearly everything any woman would want – an entrepreneur who looks like a professional soccer player, a multicultural, multilingual Latin of French, Spanish and Italian heritage, obscenely charming – younger than I am (men die on average 7 years before women do).  Yet I move toward ‘whatever this might be’ with equal parts enthusiasm and trepidation as he is a Scorpio male with whom I have had innumerable past crash and burn encounters (to his credit he is making a compelling argument for the differentiation he offers).   I am trying hard not to let my past perceptions have negative influence on my future. To clear away the unwanted that has been concealed, live “in fullness of being”. To not only welcome but actually embrace that he (or any man) might possess all the attributes I could desire  and  to make my “life is love” part of my new reality.


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I hear my grandmother say, on the occasion of her 84th birthday, “I don’t know where all the years have gone, in my head I am still 19.”

ImageNelson Mandela is 94 (may he rest in peace) and has been in and out of the hospital for the last three months, what is clearly toward the end of a remarkable life.  Every news bit I hear about the former South African president and Nobel Laureate is like the world, specifically the citizens of South Africa, is waiting to exhale at the same time wanting to prolong his life.  Everything, every life, ends the as it begins – in impermanence. We cannot stop or hinder the cycles of the universe’s finite and connected energy.  His ‘mind pictures’ must surely be running together in a blur of fast forward motion rather than stand out singly in high definition clarity.  But with 27 of those 94 years confined to a prison, the ‘blur’ of those (particular) days must be more like watching slow motion photography.  Someplace in between balance can be found.

@TeresaFritschi Blur vs. Appreciation – cram too much into your day & cherished memories can’t take hold & ferment, the opportunity to express #gratitude.

With balance against the blur comes appreciation, gratitude, something I think a great many of us are lacking in our lives.  I listen to my sister-in-law (the latest ‘generation’ of moms known to me) speak of the events for their (various) country club memberships, plus kids swim & piano lessons, play-dates, birthday parties, school functions and friends who do the same with their kids but also squeeze in lake house visits, Little League, skate park, cheer-leading, gymnastics, cultural things (museums, historic sites), art classes, horseback riding, vacations that are more like running the gauntlet – I am exhausted. It’s of course NOT JUST THE KIDS but this syndrome bred in childhood of ‘not wanting to miss anything’ which perpetuates B-L-U-R onto everyday lives of adults we all know as well.  The state of dissatisfaction, always feeling like you might be missing something, always needing to be entertained, engaged and ‘doing’.  People, (borrowing from my dear girlfriend Jennifer Sertl’s amplification formulae here), breathe and ‘learn to be still’.  Instead of filling UP every minute of everyday focus on the magic, the beauty, feel reverence, be quiet, fill with one thing – fully. I bear witness to the frenetic nature of American lives and wonder – where is the joy?  Cultivating appreciation within us almost guarantees fulfillment.  Our awareness, in some circles mindfulness, gets you just a little bit more out of everything.   

DSCN0172This evening a child in a yellow cotton sundress lay across my lap, head supported by pillows, watching a movie on a computer screen. It was nearly the end of her ‘pre-birthday’ celebration, with her hand-made invitation in magic markers slid under my door earlier in the day. We had played boards games, ate chocolate cake that she had decorated with M&Ms and laughed as she attempted to blow out the trick candles her next elder sister had picked out. She had run around,  used her new chalk to draw on the sidewalk, and now, she was sprawled softly breathing in and out, in sure confidence that she was safe and being held in an invisible cloak cloakofloveof love, fully content with her lot in life.  I can honestly say that in the year I have known her only once have I witnessed (and then held her, soothed her) a meltdown and that came from her self perception of being unable to do something (spelling) to perfection so that she avoided the beast instead of confronting it. She is a happy person. Her curiosity is a delight, her retention inspiring. She is diligent in her kindness as a Bodhisattva, her gratitude expressed catches in your throat like a Hallmark Channel movie. Tomorrow she turns 8, and sooner than she can possibly realize she’ll be looking back at her life as my grandmother and Nelson Mandela wondering where all the years went.  My only birthday wish for her is to live in such a way that her abundance comes from within.  That while she (somehow manages to maintain her essence) she grows to have a mindfulness and gratitude which expands the smallest of her experiences into life altering blessings.  That the elegance and simplicity which comes from the current convergence of her brain and her diligence and a cardboard box will serve to fill all of her days. 

If you enjoy my blog please consider ‘buying me a cup of tea’ in your currency via PayPal to livelikeadog@gmail.com and do share it with your friends on Facebook, Google+ and Twitter – I am @TeresaFritschiTo order my book, please click on the cover art of my book below, thank you! 




I wake, on a fairly regular basis, to a note being affixed (in some way) to my door.  It is almost always in a child’s uneven block lettering adorned with hearts or butterflies and at least one smiley face. It usually says “I love you” or “Love, Rachel” and can be a thank you note for some tiny kindness I extended to her and her sisters – but she is always the one who writes the note, the youngest one.  Once she left me a perfectly flat piece of sandstone for ‘the garden’ with a note now on my refrigerator door. Image

And as I discover each of these tiny endearments my heart swells, my eyes fill, my throat clenches and a small piece of my soul slips out of the physical shell I find my life housed within and joins such magical things as rainbows, meteor showers and baby bunnies.

She is an apt protégé in the garden, curious and absorbing the name of each plant, beginning to understand that each has a short cycle in which it will bloom and (I flatter myself to think) perhaps her recent enthusiasm at discovering the scent and prettiness of Lily of the Valley will ensure that forty years from now she will be passing on her knowledge as a plants-woman to different 7 year old. People like Rachel make me wonder about the scope of humankind’s capacity for simple kindness – to treat others as we all long to be treated, to leave the world a tiny bit better than ‘it is’. People like Rachel give me hope.

And then there are people like Sean Penn who make my small efforts of tending a tiny spot of the Earth and mentoring Rachel feel inadequate in the extreme. I stand in awe and near reverence of his undaunted efforts three years after the earthquake which devastated Haitians tiny half of the island they share with the Dominican Republic. The sheer magnitude of providing sanitation and clean drinking water and housing for Haiti’s displaced, Penn continues living cheek by jowl with those he aims to serve. I mention this in terms of kindness because to live surrounded by death and suffering must stretch any humans’ capacity to renew and give again on another day, each day until ‘it’s right’. My admiration for him as a human outstrips his remarkable gifts as an actor.

With a $4000 sweater on its cover, in contrast with the average Haitian who lives on $730 per year, I wonder if the WSJ Magazine would have recently ‘covered’ Penn’s efforts were it not for the stunning photograph by Jim Goldberg (whose works can be found in the permanent collections of such galleries as The Whitney, The MFA, The Corcoran and The Library of Congress) commissioned by Giorgio Armani to honor the Acqua for Life project. Oh, yes, and mentioning the $500,000 donation Armani is making to Penn’s J/P Haitian Relief Organization; Penn’s commitment to basic human kindness far outstrips the ease in which a check can be written.

But each does what they can. Right? RIGHT?

I believe kindness is an extension of gratitude, for the ability to see and feel what others patently miss whilst they pursue instead of living. With every act of kindness more loving energy pours forth into the world at large, as Thomas Paine so eloquently wrote:

What we obtain too cheap, we esteem too lightly; it is dearness only that gives everything its value.

What kindness will you extend today that in its ‘dearness’ the amplification will be felt beyond your own borders?