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As I journeyed on my course of life –

I looked back to a littered path of broken pieces – hewn away from once cherished dreams.

What were to be the building blocks of an envisioned monument called “beautiful life” now lay strewn, slashed, bashed, and crumbled.

They were fragments from my entangled emotions and botched outlooks.

Decaying gold was all I saw along the road I traveled.

There were no sunny skies of realized passions – no beating, bright, hearts of splendor.


The view was heartbreaking, disconcerting, and unnerving.

I mused upon the forlorn, ashen, disenchanted view and wept.

Yet, in a flash,

A hopeful expectation arose, and my view was redirected.

Now, instead of crumbled debris there was a path that was clear – full of life and light.

I was pushed ahead, farther and faster down the path.

I was maneuvered so deftly away from the brokenness that its remains were nowhere in sight.

My view of the trail behind me and in front of me was clear.

The Light, Power, and Love had moved me away from the evident defeats.

~ Kim Cline 2018

My View


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View [vyoo]

  1. an instance of seeing or beholding; visual inspection.
  2. sight; vision.
  3. range of sight or vision    online definition from 


“The forest stretched on seemingly forever with the most monotonous predictability, each tree just like the next – trunk, branches, leaves; trunk, branches, leaves. Of course a tree would have taken a different view of the matter. We all tend to see the way others are alike and how we differ, and it’s probably just as well we do, since that prevents a great deal of confusion. But perhaps we should remind ourselves from time to time that ours is a very partial view, and that the world is full of a great deal more variety than we ever manage to take in.”
― Thomas M. Disch, The Brave Little Toaster

“Always be thankful for the little things… even the smallest mountains can hide the most breathtaking views!”
― Nyki Mack

“If you want to change yourself, you have to change your point of view.”
― Nina Hrusa

“You don’t get to a place by constantly moving, even if your journey is only one of sitting still and waiting. Every once in a while you have to stop in your tracks and admire the view, a small cloud and a tree outside your window. You have to see what you did not see before. And then you have to sleep.”
― Rachel Joyce, The Love Song of Miss Queenie Hennessy


Maintaining the best possible mental attitude along my life journey is the best thing I can do for me and everyone around me. That should be obvious, but it requires mental and emotional energy. On some days it seems easier than others to pay that energy requirement, and vigilance is crucial to keeping myself from moving into the “red” emotionally.

In order to stay prosperous in the emotional bank account, I have learned to stay away from toxic people and toxic situations when I have that choice. I work to be at peace with all people whenever possible; but when that formula is not viable, I get away from them. My view of life is my choice.  I choose to think the best thoughts and take in the best view for my life.  KC ’18























































































My Superpower


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My superpower is the ability (however rough it may be) to manage mundane tasks, day in and day out, while maintaining a level of enthusiasm that (hopefully) generates a narcissistic appreciation from my family, friends, religious institution leaders, secular institution leaders, and the local grocery store workers.  The little tasks that demand my attention (and yours) every day can wear out mere mortals on a subatomic level.

When my kids were small, mundane tasks took on the scope and sequence of launching a rocket into space. Just getting them dressed in the morning “to run errands with mommy” with reasonable clothing in place, required multiple protein shakes, a few lonely screams (mine) from inside a dark closet, and a call to my therapist. Once the kids were loaded and vaguely settled into the car,  I held mental debates as to whether or not I was actually going to  stop and take them into a place of business with me. Just getting them into the store with shoes on, and without sibling fights where someone was sticking their fingers into the other kid’s mouth, should have been enough to warrant a nomination for a peace prize from some nation, somewhere – anywhere.

That is my summation of a superpower that I held for several years. It was there when I needed to put on a cape, and it was there when I didn’t feel like I could ever pick up or even look at a cape again. I also noticed a similar cape on my sister. Her superpower took a huge hit when her only child passed away from an opioid overdose. As I am older, wearier (not necessarily wiser), fraying, and looking for glasses, I have discovered that the only portion of the superpower that I now possess  is the ability to smile and nod my head when it looks as if someone is talking in my direction. I am good with that.


Words as an Inheritance

I believe that words can be passed down through generations similar to a financial inheritance.

Think of a time when you were a  child and you were reprimanded for something you did or didn’t do.  Maybe those words were accompanied with a sense of anger or frustration on the part of the speaker. Do you recall the impact of their words and how that made you feel?

Maybe both, the emotions and the words, imparted something to you, but the words become like seeds that dropped down into the soil of your soul.   That seed opens, and spreads its roots just the same as every tomato seed after it is planted in a garden.  It’s in the seed’s genetic code to take root and produce.

Isn’t it funny, weird, or even scary when you say something and realize you sounded just like your parents? What you repeat is what was planted in you. Your words can create an inheritance in the life of those around you.  They can shape the path of your life and they can shape the path of your children– just like an inheritance.Word seeds_Cline





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My thoughts on fear are varied and unscientific. I have written short stories about people facing their fears, seemingly defeating them, only to have that same fear resurface in a different event later in the story. Fear is a bully. Fear can be used as a tool by anyone in our life that feels the need or desire to control us.  Fear is a formidable foe if we allow it to incapacitate us. I say “allow it to incapacitate us” because fear cannot control you if you incapacitate it first.

I grew up with fear in my home. The most laughable fear (now I can laugh) that controlled me as a child started when my sister forced me to stay up with her and watch a horror movie.  I had never seen anything like that before. It was a graphically pitiful movie about a “crawling hand” that murdered people. But I was just a 6 or 7 year-old kid curled up on a cold, vinyl couch with a blanket over my head, covering my eyes. My sister was a teenager at that time, so how in the world was an incapacitated 6-year-old supposed to help her teenage sister during a horror movie? What was she thinking? Ha! Fear had her too.  I was psychologically scarred from that movie and became the slave of fear for many years. I had nightmares (when I could sleep) about that murderous hand.

Here is the catch: when I was sent to live with the abusive relative in another state, I believed that I would be safe from the hand finding me for about the first year that I was staying there. In my mind, that hand started looking around for me after I watched its movie.  When I moved to another state, I could sleep for a while at night because the hand had to turn around and creep along the side of a road or through ditches to find me — and that would take some time (Oh, how the brain seeks out ways to grapple with fear. In my situation, elaborate, mental tunnels for escape were built to keep from facing and eradicating fear).  Sometime into the second year of my hellish existence, living in a new place with an abusive alcoholic, I believed the hand was probably close to finding me, and I became a walking zombie due to an inability to sleep at night. The fear robbed me of rest, which in turn caused my grades in school to plummet. It became a rough patch coupled with the abuse that was now perpetrated upon me.

It took me several years to shake the fearful idea that a crawling hand was stalking me. This is when I came to realize that fear is a bully. It mentally beats you into submission  which can beat you up physically. It is a terrible cycle, but it can be broken. I slowly came to recognize that I had authority over my thoughts, including fear-based thoughts. I control what I believe. I may not be able to control a situation, but the beauty is that I can remain peaceful and fearless regardless of what I am facing.  It has taken me a few decades (sadly, too long) to realize the power that I have over ridiculous thoughts and feelings, but freedom is a refreshing path, and it opens new adventures that begin with  fearless thoughts.




I was astonished at how little it took for me to become irritated and exhausted while walking through a loud, populated city. The noise was beyond what I was used to and I had to wear ear buds just to keep my focus away from all the clamor. I hoped to find a quiet atmosphere in the park, in the middle of the city,  but it was almost as loud with all the music and videos streaming on people’s devices.  It struck me that people might be afraid to walk around without noise emanating from them and surrounding them.  The movie, A Quiet Place directed by John Krasinski,  had not been released yet. The noise was a huge distraction.

Early on in the trip, my energy was wasted on trying to find calming atmospheres instead of refreshing myself creatively.  I eventually ended up spending most of my time in the museums which was a happy bonus in so many ways.

In the article, “Four Secrets to Creativity” in Psychology Today, Mary Diduch writes, “A bit of background noise can enhance creativity, reports a recent study in the Journal of Consumer Research. But don’t blast the television just yet: Too much noise impairs our ability to process information. To promote abstract thinking, we need just the right amount of distraction—about the volume level you would find in a café.”

“After silence, that which comes nearest to expressing the inexpressible is music.”

~Aldous Huxley