Beliefs or Barriers? - S.M. Bjarnson

Beliefs or Barriers?

S.M. Bjarnson 

As writer, bloggers, authors, readers, all of the above, we have restrictions on our minds we may not even realize. Our belief system put into place at a very young age brought up to believe and orientate one certain function or way. I have read many books, books that lie, cheat, steal, kill, swear, sweat, you know real life story books. It seems highly unnecessary to grant the submission of banning a book when the great writers of today were moved if not inspired by these works of literature. 

Rowell was, according to her blog, absolutely devastated by this treatment. She wrote “When these people call Eleanor & Park an obscene story, I feel like they’re saying that rising above your situation isn’t possible. That if you grow up in an ugly situation, your story isn’t even fit for good people’s ears. That ugly things cancel out everything beautiful.” 

Not necessarily a negative aspect, but also may not be a positive one. You limit yourself to read things because you are advised not too! Just so you know this may get a little philosophical so beware! I recently saw a picture of books that have now since been banned from libraries and school media centers, why, because they have to far out ideas. I mean we grew up with these books people! Winnie the pooh-My all time favorite as a kid. Was taken away from young readers minds because talking animals offend God. By the way I have found a perfect explain of the list of banned books! Here on this website! http://www.pajiba.com/station_agents/30-banned-and-challenged-kids-books-that-will-make-you-feel-terrible-about-humanity.php#.U3EeJPldUZw

Also on this undermined list of books, there is the historical, if not educational autobiography by none other than Anne Franks. Anne Frank: The Diary Of A Girl: This year (THIS YEAR) in New Hampshire, the Holocaust classic was challenged in Michigan for the following reasons: “It’s pretty graphic, and it’s pretty pornographic for seventh-grade boys and girls to be reading. It’s inappropriate for a teacher to be giving this material out to the kids when its really the parents’ job to give the students this information.” Though the book wasn’t banned in Michigan, it was briefly banned in Virginia in, wait for it, 2010. 

I just would like to ask one question about this and I will move right along to other charades of enterprise; are we idiots? Let's talk about this Anne Frank was a key role in one of the biggest monumental times, for her diary we are engulfed in the Holocaust. If it were not for her being there and writing those journal entries we would have veered off into someone else words, maybe not the right words. I am saying is that she was alive and her book was published for a reason, to teach us if not educate us. 

The Giving Tree: Because the tree is overly compliant and, yes, giving and the boy is demanding and selfish this book has been called sexist. 

Tell me are we that bored with reality we have to ruin the childhood of young adults everywhere to prove some mythical point of beliefs brand new. You can not please everyone, but I wonder, if these people ever get tired of themselves, these individuals that fight everyone on every little detail. 

What is a world we are not able to read freely? What is a planet without books? Our imaginations dried and starving for literature. What makes others think they can choose and pick the ideas we want to believe in or expose ourselves too?

His Dark Materials: Much like Harry Potter, the objection here is a religious one. Though I strongly disagree with the complaint, it is, in this instance, far more justified. Phillip Pullman’s beautiful trilogy does, yes yes, involve some kids on a mission to kill God (aka The Authority). So I can see how that might make some parents look askance. Though Pullman is vocally, frankly anti-organized religion, I don’t think he’s anti-faith. He’s said: “[I]n my view, belief in God seems to be a very good excuse, on the part of those who claim to believe, for doing many wicked things that they wouldn’t feel justified in doing without such a belief.”

Tell me are we fools?

Harriet The Spy: This book was challenged in the 1980s in Ohio for teaching “children to lie, spy, back-talk and curse.”

 Are they our beliefs 

or are they barriers? 

All quotes on books banning are from this blog: http://www.pajiba.com/station_agents/30-banned-and-challenged-kids-books-that-will-make-you-feel-terrible-about-humanity.php#.U3EeJPldUZw

Photo Credit: http://www.google.com/imgres?imgurl=http%3A%2F%2Foakconsult.co.uk%2Fwp%2Fwp-content%2Fuploads%2F2012%2F11%2Fmind-barriers.jpg&imgrefurl=http%3A%2F%2Foakconsult.co.uk%2Fwhy-not-or-why-not-removing-personal-barriers-to-success%2F&h=350&w=318&tbnid=F7-iogPRdLvDdM%3A&zoom=1&docid=oqCjGPoq8WsL-M&ei=dxxxU5fCCYL3oASajoDwAQ&tbm=isch&ved=0CIsBEDMoLjAu&iact=rc&uact=3&dur=481&page=2&start=30&ndsp=35

"If you can guess what is in my pocket you can have it." -S.M. Bjarnson

                “If you can guess what I have in my pocket, you can have it?” The pocket was as empty as the old man’s soul.

“This is a childish game, papa. Can you just simply give me the items you so secretly hide in your trousers?” The young lady folded her arms neatly behind her back.

“Now child, where would you find your sense of adventure, your sense of prideful imagination if there wasn't a guess to be given?” Twiddling his fingers about, he struck no key or compass.

“Is it a key to my new flat? You've promised me something grand, shall that be the answer you are searching for?” Sweet as her smile was, grandfather new all too well where it had gotten her, and most days he underfed the idea of where it had gotten him.

“Surely, nonsense if you suppose there is a building hiding in these old slacks.” They shared a controversial laugh; the park had become vacant.

The morning was all they took together. This man and his granddaughter, stole their morning bread and ate it by the rivers bend. Sunlight streaming beneath the open branches of the sycamore trees. Thievery was a sport. Entitled to quite more than any necessary needs, they were shoplifting for the thrill. His age was solemnly deteriorating. Her beautiful young age was blossoming like a lotus in spring, awing.

Lessons and teachings were performed and then vastly inadequate. The young woman’s intelligence came not from the text in books, rather the predicament of precarious occasions. The grandfather her supposed protector suspected his last breaths early on.

Huffing her breath in the cool of the crisp air. She shuffled her boots about, making squeaks in all the curves. There were rumors, she was a part of that he had been involved with. Both ending their social status lives.

“A sweet or two. The moon. The stars, the secrets to the universe, all of the above?” Reaching over to caress his rosy cheek, a quiet chill had come over him.

“Papa?” His cheek frigid with embarrassment.

“My darling, continue with your speculations please.” The vibrations rang out upon the paved pathway. He heard her began to hum a tune he knew all too well. It gravitated toward him, aching in his bones.

“A marble? A jewel, a ring of sorts? Is it my inheritance early on?” This girl used to be a child once, he thought. He saw her skipping in his memories in her tights and dress’.

“Part of it, maybe.” Visions became blurry. Hearts began to slow, one day they would all stop.

“The family business? Your lake house?” Her guesses began to weigh on him as he looked around at all he was leaving behind.

Were they the things he had worked so hard for, for so long for? Were they inevitably worth his family’s lives, especially that life of his only granddaughter? Questions hung around his head like a noose being dangled in front of his exhausted eyes.

Whisking away the static in her hair, she knelt down at his knee. Standing by his side when all others chose to flee. Her palm open to his honesty. His heart open to the mercy she provided.

Guilt swallowed the man whole, and he gladly let it gobble his being. Crumbs of bellowing hope long washed away. Characters of influential all bashing your truly good name. No longer his name, he realized it was now hers and he had squandered it in vain. Times were rough, no excuses had been made. The knowledge of the crimes committed were cast away. Far from recollection, far from someone’s paperwork, the secrets were deep in now some Joe’s swimming hole. 

He fumbled with his large fists exiting the pouches. Letting one hand fall open he began to speak.

“An apology.” The wrinkles lining every accountability of his mournful life. “An apology is in my pocket. I have been holding it in that cloth outlet for quite some time, for a number of years. It is now my gift I wish to give you, my one ultimate gift. It is for you. I have given you many things, a wealthy life and a bothersome existence.” His voice began to grovel. His hands began to shake.

“So, I am sorry.” The fists were laid open, unwilling to take back the present he had exposed.

S.M. Bjarnson

Running as Father-S.M. Bjarnson

Running as Father

            He calms his breathing as he slows to a stop; watching the world run by him, in his green sea water swimming shorts. His hair has aged to gray and blackish, he tries to keep strong in such a hating world. He moves and moves and steps further and further, running and jogging farther away from the abyss. Searching for comfort and help with raising teenagers who seem to despise him. They intended no harm or hurt.

            Suit and a tie is what he lived in for days and years as a grown up, trying to make an impact in society. As he ran past a merry-go-round he found himself having a flashback, of when the teens were little and innocently loving; he smiled at the memory. Passing stores and houses in a small town where he had grown up and where he had raised his own five dollar family.  He was quaint and a little man sturdy and strong-minded. He was selfless in others eyes, he waved and they waved as he swept on by down the road. While he rushed through abandoned streets and alley ways, he began to wonder his purpose among others and himself.

            Stopping to breathe in the fresh night air, agitated he took a slow walk around a red brick house. He stops and stares across at the snowed on pine trees and faded yellow garage door. So many memories, so many happy and sad times, all seemed to flow out at him all at once. A prideful tear drops onto his white bland shirt, he whips it away as he drops to his knees, frustrated wondering where he had gone wrong with them all. Exhausted and hopeful he gained courage and rose from his brandished kneeling, he sprinted giving way to lost and useless questions that were unimportant to a day. 

-S.M. Bjarnson 

I'm Only Living a Lie When I tell my soul I am fine, by S.M. Bjarnson

It wasn't clear to me about how far our livelihood had come.

We are travelers on a path nobody has a map too. 

I listen to the yearnings that pull me to every unmentionable path. 

I am alone.

Watching the waves hitting the bottom pits of the ocean.

They are encircled in time when there has been no time but now.

We are living in a breathless fought over universe only we are the only ones at battle.

With ourselves we are the only ones looking for victory when victory has already given into us, time and time again.

We are poor soldiers waiting to go home, awaiting a decision from the leaders we think execute their plans with us in mind and not from their own ambitious winnings.

We were right weren't we, leading a team of masked teenagers into a battle, no one had ideas of winning.

Our paths stained with generational bloodlines. 

Our maps colored with veins.

The world was a line and there had been for curves created to save those who were not absolute in the eyes of our leaders.

Claims and taughting of voices made it clear we had no voice or reason to commute the exile pathway.

After everything is said and down we evidently find ourselves at the beginning again, with a clearer frame of mind, understanding what roads to neglect and others to partake in the journey of.

Rumors will be true if you let them live on.

The fictitious character we call time can be reset anytime.

I'm only living a lie when I tell my soul I am fine.

-S.M. Bjarnson

A piece at a time, -S.M. Bjarnson

My concentration broke and I was at the worst of them. Breathing under strict rule of where and when I was to leave and bleed my words and to whom. My glued eyes shut I reminisce in a once victorious land. I stand alone at the battle field of the mercenaries. I am a king if not a queen to the trap of solitude. I am the heir to a terrible crumbling kingdom. With cruel intent I will seek them out to become more than just a maiden in a chamber. There will be blood as there always is the red stain among the men in history.

Wishful thinking tells us that we are longer good, we are longer able. Who is the judge in the case? The ruler that signifies us disruptive. For a short time we may live out the remaining years will a solemn prayer of being an achievement of the human race, but you see that is the mistake we are all in a race.

Hills and valleys will let us know if our succession is relevant or rather a mistake of guidance on our elders part. We are children being led away with a string or a rope, led to another world where our imagination is held captive and our irrelevant lives became purposeful.

We stood through streams and creeks remembering our fallen brothers. The cold chills turning over the aged rocks, exposing secrets my lovely sisters kept. A dark hidden past was one thing and then another when the light made it glow. Terminal, the position our beloved on us. Our potion was a category for defeat and victory was not on the contents of victory. Sacrifice on the other hand was a very big ingredient in the poison.

Fruit taken from the tempting tree were we all at the devils hands, tug graves and cutting corners. There was music in the air. Swirling the temptations of what had come and what had not. We would not last the night, the morning dew taking the place of our final determination. Trembling words fluctuated around the matters of factual and factious.

Could you remind me of my crime dear sir? Could you so ever gallantly refresh my deprived memory of the crimes you accuse of me committing?

There was a line I had drawn upon the fallen walls of the kingdom we called home. White marks leading up and down and curve to remind us we were never to be left alone in this day in this age, we were prisoners. We were the answer to the most disgusting of questions.

The solutions for a match made in ever. Our turbulence qualified for a ok landing, but there was nothing and we stood for exactly that.

A piece at a time.

-S.M. Bjarnson

Deepok Chopra Quote

The universe has no fixed agenda. Once you make any decision, it works around that decision. There is no right or wrong, only a series of possibilities that shift with each thought, feeling, and action that you experience.

A New Day

Do you know what day it is? Did you smell it as you woke up this morning, wondering where it had gone and wondering where it shall go? The moments began to pass in a film strip; in unison, remarks to purpose and passion, people and among other things, politics. I wonder am I looking back, as I travel over the two sided bridge. Am I taunting the ways i once saw my own self. Where had the time gone? Let alone the depiction of martyrs and heroes. We are all alike, like petals on a flower, leaves falling from the autumn trees; no longer green, but orange in their rhymes. Turning tables, you'll find marks upon scratch lines telling you the truth. Not only to the ones who you've loved, but those who always wonder. Time will tell as it always has in this hour, in this day. 

-S.M. Bjarnson

Gettting There is Half the Challenge!

Getting There is Half the Challenge.

I've made plenty of mistakes in my career, being a self-published author does have it's trials. You think your getting somewhere and some hope tries to bring itself up into your life and then BAM! Shut down by yet another, publisher, reviewer, critic.

You will never make everyone happy. You need to understand this and you need to understand that everyday we all have our downfalls, some more than others. It shouldn't limit us our ability to rise and walk. We are merely human beings trying to rush at the world as Superheroes. Come on haven't you ever played make believe? Well, everyday I get to play make beleive. In my journeys in my writings I am creating marvelous worlds I could honestly hope to understand. They are not the lives I live, but someone does, if not in comparision.

I am richly blessed with a wonderful family. I have great gratitude towards my fellow beings who have not had such good going lives, as I have. I understand your struggle and am faced with readers and people everyday, sharing their heartfelt stories with me. I am thankful. I am grateful and blessed. I hope one day I might change perspectives of those who have had a lost of love ones or more.

In my stories and blog posts I am here to be your friend to enrich your lives. As my imagination has enriched and sweetened my beliefs on the world. There will always be a negative to a postive a right to every wrong, depending how you look at it, or which side of the fence you choose to sit on. Challenges will come and they will most certainly go! Do all you can because one day the paycheck or promotion will come your way! In the wonderous words of a very cute cartoon off MEET THE ROBISONS, Keep Moving Forward!


S.M. Bjarnson

Everyday let it be Gold.

Belong to a Kingdom