Jessica Bibbee

Posts Tagged ‘certain’

20150525

In aphorism, question, rumination on 20150525 at 23:55

Which is rarer, the jewel in the rough or the eye that sees it? 

Precious is the jewel that has been discovered, unlike objects of abundance, for its worth is, if only in that it is valued.

A blanket of stars is ne’er for sale, ne’er for purchase, only for beholding or forsaking.

If humility is apt to follow certainty, perchance enlightenment stands to follow uncertainty. 

The future is often more than we could hope for, if not what we expect. 

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20120929

In aphorism, proverb on 20121021 at 22:06

The fool are rank-focused, guided by pride. The wise are task-focused, guided by progress.

Life without risk is certain death. Death with certain risk is life.

Who does not laugh is the joke.

The foe to a fool is so a foe to a fool’s friends, too.

You may very well be a product of your environment, so choose wisely your environment.

20110810

In aphorism, proverb on 20110810 at 11:44

Even when the waves stop crashing, there is still surface tension.

Every day offers a choice, every day affords a new chance.

Be certain only of uncertainty.

20110222

In rumination on 20110222 at 22:30

The phrase “one in none” bespeaks foolery.
The phrase “one in one” proves certainty.
The phrase “one in ten” indicates normality.
The phrase “one in a hundred” signals concern.
The phrase “one in a thousand” suggests rarity.
The phrase “one in a million” connotes awe.
The phrase “one in a billion” commands humility.

20091107

In aphorism, idiom, proverb, rumination on 20091107 at 14:30

[on BELIEF and ACTION]

It is possible to know one’s beliefs by looking at their actions, but it is impossible to know one’s actions simply by looking at one’s beliefs.

For belief is different than action, and rare is the person who acts according to his or her professed belief.

Humans are mortal, by definition, and know for certain very little about things immortal.

Hypothesis and superstitions, often termed belief, aim to simplify what is supernatural, i.e., what is not of this earth.

One’s beliefs cannot change reality, they cannot explain the past or define the future. At most, a belief may shape the present, and only our actions can agree with our beliefs.

If our actions do not match our beliefs, then it is only the present that we disgrace in the name of the future.

A belief which does not match our actions is but another’s, whose existence is never real enough to call our own. In this light, it is only possible to say that actions exist and beliefs are as only as real as said actions.

The action which differs from belief must relinquish any ties to that belief, for they are separate, they are an ‘other’ unto each other.

A fool professes a belief and guides not his actions to follow. The wise guide their own actions accordingly, and in doing so, set forth a belief which no soul can dispute, as it is backed with action.

20091014

In aphorism, proverb on 20091014 at 13:26

Existence is acceptance.

Who is certain of the right will justify even the wrong.

20090924

In rumination on 20090924 at 13:53

Ownership is begat of possession; possession is but for want of belonging; how ironic, then, that in belonging, we most certainly lose our identity. Dare it be true, then, that the more we own, the less of ourselves we retain?

20090419

In aphorism, proverb on 20090419 at 08:50

Morality is listening to your conscience, acting accordingly, and being able to sleep with a clear mind.

May we be less certain of our doubts, and more doubtful of our certainties.

War is premeditated murder without exception, exemption, or excuse.

20060131

In poetry on 20060131 at 23:10

《the sex of poets》

The sex of poets emanates –
flowing as without edges,
contagious as without knowing;
words play
back and forth –
a rhythm, ever changing,
follows whereby one leads
until the pull of the next.
One moment
as without definition,
nor clearly sided with neighbors –
rolling one to the next.
Beckoned without call,
it is from a distance that
one sees deep into the heart
where life seems both
to stop and start, again –
without pause and
with the haste of lovers
kept at bay, unwilled.
The words sear clear,
sharp and pure.
They exist alone,
and yet are fed
by the hunger of ideas
yet tossed,
yet exposed –
as if the virgin ever lived
within the eyes of the soul;
forever waiting,
forever with hunger –
fresh as the moment to follow.

The sex of poets lingers
past the setting sun
into the morning dew,
where one knows not for sure
if the climax be truer
at the final release of
thoughts never felt, – or
perhaps at the time
of response; the
lover’s words, a compliment,
meshing with, as if one.
Almost beyond a reality,
the words live on
to dance without end,
to breed a careful song –
as if in tales of lore,
existence never certain.
Fleeting, though strong;
Skirting, though present –
The moment speaks not
of tangible truths
that speak of tomorrows,
but rather the window
rarely looked into –
it is there
it is waiting,
but cannot be taken with you,
nor fed to the mortal –
only to continue
in the souls of lovers –
perhaps truer than
the love of lovers itself.

The sex of poets preys
upon the passion saved
over years and decades
desires of the flesh
never satisfy the wound
of ages past
of pains neglected
merely masking in mum
the yearning ever mounting
to release with a single
sound
The silence is broken,
fears relinquished;
the rebirth of hopes
fills the air –
thick with the essence of now
and hint of next,
never to be sure.
The bliss lies within,
ever longing.
Separate worlds entwined –
an affair of the id
within…
Never lucid to the searching,
but in control.
When no longer logic bids you
surrender, at last call
with bursting souls;
hungrier still, the eve –
power of the word
has finally come, the time.