Whoever has learned how to listen to trees no longer wants to be a tree.
He wants to be nothing except what he is.
"Doubt kills more dreams than failure ever will."
— Karim Seddiki (via awakenedvibrations)
Why is it so strange to some for women to have pubic hair?
I lift my eyes from a deep sleep with a someone behind me. His slender fingers move across the sheets slowly and with grace, to find my own. He squeezes my hand softly, and kisses my hair and we fall back asleep.
We wake up, this time for the day and head downstairs to make breakfast. There are children running around the house, and parents in the living room, sipping coffee and reading. Its a very domesticated day, here. A day of playing with the children, small and heartfelt conversations with the parents, working on a boat briefly, and many kisses on the cheek. When its time for bed again, this man holds me with his heart.
It was a simple, but very beautiful and fulfilling dream. I woke up with so much love in my heart, and completely refreshed.
"The psyches and souls of women also have their own cycles and seasons of doing and solitude, running and staying, being involved and being removed, questing and resting, creating and incubating, being of the world and returning to the soul-place."
— Clarissa Pinkola Estés, Women Who Run With the Wolves: Myths and Stories of the Wild Woman Archetype
"To my daughter I will say,
‘See your beauty
without a compliment
or a mirror.’"
— 'Blind' by Della Hicks-Wilson
"We must embrace the pain and burn it as fuel for our journey."
— Kenji Miyazawa
"Angry people want you to see how powerful they are. Loving people want you to see how powerful you are."
— Chief Red Eagle
"The less you respond to negative people the more peaceful your life will become."
like the purest most blissful sweetest pleasurable loving union with another human being on a physical yet transcending to a spiritual level where you lose all of your sense of space and time into the perfection of a passionate kiss and the touching of your warm bare soft skins and dissolve together blissfuly into the perfect present moment in orgasmic cosmic love with one another. to me this is what is…x
There is a man that is very passionate about killing a person that hurt someone he loved very much. He is so excited about the idea of killing this person, and buys a gun and shows everyone around him. He finds the man he wants to kill, and excitedly goes over to the man and does some tricks, flicking the gun around like he’s some sort of Jackie Chan. At the climax of all this, he has the gun at the mans head, asking him if hes sorry. Everyone he bragged about killing this man to begins to scream at him. Its not pointed the right direction! They scream at him, beg him not to do it, but he does it anyway. Pulls the trigger, and kills himself.
I wake up on the carpet of the house I grew up in. I’m in the basement, with the sliding glass window next to me Light pours in on my face. I turn my head slowly, switching my other cheek to press against the scratchy ground. Im a child again. I feel something warm around my ankles, and sit up to look around me. There is blood seeping in from the sliding glass doors. He’s really dead.
The sunlight held me those mornings
when your arms
and hands could not stretch
and bury all of those miles in between us.
The telephone wires suspended
with that summer air rushing
my lungs and my voice cracking
with that first surrender, love crippled.
Closing the gap of the Appalachia,
you rolled me over so many times
that spring night.
I smelled of daises
and warm Rehoboth air.
The reality of the hospital
and his chemotherapy
couldn’t catch up to me.
Your name got caught in the
screen door. The dust off of
your mother’s carpet rising
to meet that October
when our expanses
Your lungtide no longer
something I could swim.
Your absence then fully realized
by the left side of the bed empty,
that July look,
that silence between ‘good bye’
and hanging up,
that blue notebook folded,
your laughter restrained.
With my knees reinforced,
my heart no longer collapsed,
my savior my self,
three years of separation
comprehends your leaving.
we were both so bruised,
and our bodies could not
act as anchors. There is no
The equal force of the Earth
kept pushing us back
into our separate beds.
Just so you know:"
the lights in my chest cabinet
are all going out now.
For you, running here
is no longer arriving Home.
— Equal Force by Andrew M.
to sit in serene silence. to observe the simplicity of dawn. to see the beauty of dusk. to witness the miracle of birth, the promise of death. to watch the sun shine its magnificence on the earth, to watch the moon reflect its brilliance in the water. to sit in a garden. to observe the flowers bloom at the start of spring, to learn from the grace of falling leaves in autumn. to see the earth covered in white purity in the winter, to feel harsh winds on your face reminding you of your limitations. to laugh at pain, to cry with love. to take in every inhale with gratitude, to let out every exhale with kindness. to tread gently on this earth. to feel the dirt under your feet, reminding you of your creation. to observe the sky above your head, reminding you of your goals. to get lost in the stars. to find yourself in the eyes of someone else. to let someone’s arms be the answer to your questions. to let go with grace of that which was never yours. to realize that nothing is ever yours. to smile, every morning when you open your eyes. to welcome each visitor into your heart and treat them with care. to let your soul speak to you, to let trees teach you, to let rain purify you. to observe war, but know love. to see hate, but witness forgiveness. to feel pain, but have hope. to let go of all that which anchors you. to let your heart be free of fear, to let go of failure, to erase expectations. to feel your limitless capacity of goodness. to fill it. to create with your hands. to heal with your touch. to change with your laugh. to accept, to be content, to be grateful. to exist. to let your existence speak to and teach others. to live, and love.
"If you can just stop loving her then you never really loved her at all. Love doesn’t work that way. If you ever truly love someone, then it never goes away. It can become something else. There are all different sorts of love. It can even become hate—a thin line and all that—and, really, hate is just another kind of caring."
— Blakney Francis, Someone I Used to Know
What is fault, when all is love?
Everything happens for a reason, even the most painful things.
Things you may have been so afraid of happening as a child. It’s funny how that seems to work sometimes. The things we fear, happening. Do we create such happenings? Or are they predestined. Lodged in the mind from a life already lived instantly from the moment you were thought of.
"Healing is an art. It takes time, it takes practice. It takes love."
— (via therealamandahendrick)