The following is an experimental literary mash-up story mix of pictures and locations sent in from around the world put into one piece. Please feel free to join in by sending your pics and where you are. You will be folded into the story. #sundaymorningstory
(NOTE: A new story is coming this sunday. Thanks for all who participated in this amazing event!)
Here we go>>>
http://ginabowes.posterous.com/ is pulling into the dublin train station after a long trip from Waterford. The trees she sees breathe oxygen into her tired frame. The world has a way of transferring energy if you open yourself up to it.
She is exhausted, but is offered these amazing treats by @dedalous from Cumbria UK:
These were made by @boyddy in what appears to be a moment of sublime bakery.
Passed across the table to Ortigas, Manila, Philippines where @heidiannriego @Sheenaveracruz are drinking and having some cookies of their own before one of them hops on a plane to the states.
The taste of food and friendship last well past the reverberations of distance.
In Harlem, @herzwords is trying to find some connection in the world. One the fire escape across the street, a stray cat is stuck on the cold irons of a Sunday Morning. Will anyone open the window?
Echoing the distractions that the silence and comfort of a Sunday Morning bring, @iPedrooo in Bragança , Portugal, looks at his cat and wonders how he can make it that, the next time on this earth, he comes back as a feline in order to soak in the the sun and have the ability to do nothing at all. Meditation can be learned most from those who don’t speak.
The How – We are all searching for it. The news reports that the warriors are vanishing, but @coffeechugbooks from Bettendorf, Iowa is using this Sunday Morning to check out his to do list and get the youth of the world to better understand each other.
This is the mastermind of http://www.coffeeforthebrain.blogspot.com, which helps kids dive deep into literature so that their minds don’t sink into a world of video games and corporate takeovers. His children, and they are in fact his, will be on planes in the future traveling to all of the locations that are part of this Sunday Morning Story and help promote understanding of each other. How many Sunday Mornings are calling out to have their stories told and understood. How many streets are on fire right now because of ignorance. This man, in the cold of Iowa Winter, is prepping battle plans.
..But the sun shifts again. Dubai now rolls in with their tides – some created by man, some with the ripples of nature that have found their way to a new metropolis. This is becoming real. It is the literature of lives:
From a balcony in Dubai, @TDAllonsy – snap shot breaks the silence, but there are no longer stores around that concentrate only on development. The digital revolution has received bad press from the press. The people now know that power is in their hands. We can communicate on massive global levels.
Beneath one of those streetlights you see in the picture above, there is a life being generated in the empty space. Why? The life is movement. Time bending. A child with the ability to let their eyes focus in the darkness to experience the wonder of imagination. They see beyond the articles. The sun above is able to breathe without concentrating on providing life to everyone.
Can you see the world. We are connecting.
Glassed move. Switching to Columbus, Ohio @ryanNewYork shows the waitress working on her Sunday Afternoon while so many others are reading the comics or waiting for the ball games to start. Of course, others in Egypt are battling for their voices to be heard by a world that is being shut out.
Outside the doorway, impatient people are waiting. Tapping feet. Security measures. In the left hand corner, we see a sports jersey of past greatness looking to draw us in. Everyone is traveling and carrying their thoughts on a Sunday. It is the time of reflection. Stillness in movement.
Movement. Jet propulsion. Across the pond to Lincolnshire, UK 745pm here in where @EmLeary’s son builds robots on the carpet before climbing into his dreamworld for the night.
The hope from the world exists in this child’s ability to imagine wonder and construction. To allow us all to share in the dreams he is about to drift off into. Sweet dream lending exchanges will soon be popping up around the globe, and though he doesn’t know it, the freedom of creation enjoyed by the son of these two loving parents, will be captivating. Story books are created. Parades instead of tank processions.
It is all happening. It is.
Back in New York, the imagination of a child spreads out through the snow and slush on the ground. Good friends pause and feel as if they must enter the world being created. Reaching out, the send in their love. It’s @BryceGruber who decides she wants to be part of the story of the love that is existing because of the room to create. The chants of Egypt. The cold of Dublin Morning. The streets of Dubai. The wonder of Iowa. The Lebronless Ohio!
Love is becoming much more than a symbol. Much more than a slogan on a t shirt.
Up through the hovering blimps taking pictures of the buildings, we go back to the UK because @paulholio had taken his family to Lickety Splits, Seaham, County Durham. UK. We can get lost in the memories of having an ice cream with ones that you love. Those moments when you are all lost, together, sharing looks over scoops and exhaling for a moment. The hours we put in grinding it out for a paycheck are paid off here.
The birds on top of the store know that there will be nothing left over. The chorus together in hopes that passers by will toss enough change in their hats so that they too can enjoy the sweetness of a Sunday Morning. After all, they are families too. We are all related. That what the new music coming from the jukebox is saying.
You all chose the songs that are playing. Happy with your choices so far? There is no intermission. Late night editions need to be churned out. News has to be told. Call you television stations and let them know there’s something decent to report.
Back against time again.
This time from @Bellpopping in Houston Texas. Fear has melted away. The children have all put Shel Silverstein books in our hands and told us to march out to the world in this way – at this pace. The symbols that once struck fear and caused us to feel will be reshaped.
In the background, the major chains that have eaten up the small shop owners will not go away. This is fact. It is the truth of the fiction inside of this tale. However, what they do not have, we can build. The color and love they are forbidden to explore, we can create and plant again. Combinations. We are living off of paycheck. There are stories behind all involved. As the man on the horse and the woman petting the horse about each of their first kisses, and you will have that moment of pause upon reflection. We have those moments. All of us. Connections.
Record scratch and we’re heading East again. @BushwickArt @SMOKEHAAT on the ground letting everyone know not to let down their guards too much in their celebration of love. The elements have a way of striking back and testing your will to act.
Amazing that the spaces for rent hold the new hieroglyphics that scholars will attempt to decipher centuries from now. The Fire Engine shows us all that those heros we look up to as children making robots on our parents rugs still can come in and save the day. Nothing wrong with believing. Crowds gathering in front of fires here reflect on what’s happening in the Nile so many thousands of miles away. Who’s marks will be left standing.
Down South. Trains just now running again.
Comfort. At home. Watching movies. Safe in here room in Bensalem, PA. The world keeps opening and allowing for the chorus to continue. It’s never linear. Never understood on the first listen. Everything exists between the lines.
In the background, images of friends tacked up to watch over us. We need watching over. You can just make out the child in the upper left of the cork board. It is the repeating image. It is the pureness we are crying out for but are afraid to realize. The day is happening. Soft lift bouncing through the curtains. Sounds of a train whistle not too far off. Movies playing – it’s the art of the story that connects us. We are not alone.
Up the highway. Again. Travel. Connections are all around.
Through the windshield in New England. On the Road.
@AVwriter shows us through the eyes of contemplation. The road ahead offers time for the mind. What we’re leaving behind. What exists ahead. Zooming by all of the truck stops and gas stations – by the towns not marked and unvisited. Where factories used to dominate but gave way. Now what exists. Are we glancing there? Snow cleared and pushed to the side. Still exists. We all exist. Amazing how much is being shown. Pieced together, this story is the way home.
Down in Albuquerque, New Mexico, a sketch of her cat as @valeriestorey works on her book. The cat reflects the one from Portugal earlier today. Animals are making their way in. They calm us humans down because their actions are without voice.
His name is Igor. Who will you think of the next time you hear that name?
Back to the midwest, where @TellMeDelmy Chicago, IL bring us back to the kitchen table. To the essence of taste and memory. From where we came from. From the history of hands that have fed us.
Nothing is added to the story because the words of a daughter speaks love stories for all. "Here is a close up of my mother's homemade veggie soup, I think only a close up does it justice. While all my other friends at school grew up having their mom's chicken soup, I grew up with a different kind, when I was younger I didn't appreciate it and would ask for some "regular" chicken soup, the older I am the more I love my mom's version of chicken soup. My mom's soup is made with toasted pasta, tomato puree, fresh chicken stock, loads of veggies, topped with fresh cilantro, a squeeze of lemon and of course with a lot of love. To this day, when I'm sick or after a rough week I ask her to make me some of her soup, this was one of those weeks and that is why I had some of her amazing soup for lunch. Whether I am up or down this is the PERFECT Sunday lunch!" Late into the night, From North Bay, Ontario, Music breaks the words that have been coming in throughout. We hope it calms and provides universal language. We hope that it catches wind for a moment and lays us all to sleep with that kid making robots on the rug in the UK. It shows that humans and objects can coexist if they are used as tools. And we are all using objects as tools. The construction of music continues. The world feels vibrations with each strum. Then - wait. The globe spins again. "As the sun sets, the Philippines' Hope take a stand to bring a new sunrise to the Pearl of Orient Seas." -Hanani Senit Ramos The Children again are leading our thoughts through this story of life. We engage in their hope and pay attention to the flags they follow. It's the creation of newness. The wonder that stands deep inside each one of us - They are reaching through you, to a place you believed to be gone. It is not. The sun is moving around the world, but it never sets. It moves. We move. We move. The absence of sun allows forts to be built, dismantled and left to engage the shadows, we pray that our story allows games of war to be played with snowballs and laughter. Now - in New York, in Central Park on this late Sunday Afternoon, we get a glimpse of the sublime. In a place where feet flood the ground in the summer time and wedding pictures are posed for, a single tree calls out and lets us know its history. Showing us our place in the world. Reflection of roots and age. Moments that freeze because the world is asking for our attention. By this - the world, we are not speaking of its people, but its rhythm. Its natural order that can cover and silence without notice. What a privilege it is to be free enough to walk and think.