I have a different idea of elegance. I don’t dress like a fop, it’s true, but my moral grooming is impeccable. I never appear in public with a soiled conscience, a tarnished honor, threadbare scruples, or an insult that I haven’t washed away. I’m always immaculately clean, adorned with independence and frankness. I may not cut a stylish figure, but I hold my soul erect. I wear my deeds as ribbons, my wit is sharper and when I walk among men I make truths ring like spurs.”
But here I am in July, and why am I thinking about Christmas pudding? Probably because we always pine for what we do not have. The winter seems cozy and romantic in the hell of summer, but hot beaches and sunlight are what we yearn for all winter. ―
“A garden should make you feel you’ve entered privileged space — a place not just set apart but reverberant — and it seems to me that, to achieve this, the gardener must put some kind of twist on the existing landscape, turn its prose into something nearer poetry.” ―
“I wonder how far our dead bodies would have reached in the space had our ego been allowed to carry us off the earth.” —Xei R.
“You want me to be a tragic backdrop so that you can appear to be illuminated so that people can say ‘Wow, isn’t he so terribly brave to love a girl who is so obviously sad?’ You think I’ll be the dark sky so you can be the star? I’ll swallow you whole.” -Warsan Shire
There’s a brief moment when you first wake up where you have no memories, a blissful blank slate, a happy emptiness, but it doesn’t last long and you remember exactly where you are and what you are trying to forget. —Unknown
Green was the silence, wet was the light,
the month of June trembled like a butterfly.”
We live in initiatory times when each soul can feel more isolated amidst the dying breath of one world and the uncertainty that attends the forming of life’s next design. It is not the lack of time that we modern people suffer from, but a lack of connection to things timeless, mythic and eternal. – Michael Meade
When you grow up by the sea, you spend a good deal of time looking at the horizon. You wonder what on Earth the waves might bring – and where the sea might deposit you – until one day you know you have lived between two places, the scene of arrival and the point of departure. ~Andrew O’Hagan
I grew up by the sea and Indeed I spent a good deal of time looking at the horizon sitting on the breakwater my father had built waiting for the water to reach my feet. I never wonder what on earth the waves might bring but I once had a friend who gave me this copper ring which he made himself but had to throw it in the sea to keep me from being drowned by someone who wanted the ring so much. He said the sea will give it back to me when the time is right. The waves will deposit it at my feet wherever I am.
It didn’t happen of course and until this very moment I don’t know yet if I have lived between two places and I’m not sure if I understand where are the scene of arrival and the point of departure and how on earth I am going to recognize these places when the time comes. Perhaps it’s about being born and dying. Maybe the day you will understand you have lived between these two points is when you realized it’s your last day here on earth and it’s time to say goodbye.
The sea didn’t deposit me anywhere but a plane did. I traveled by air to hell in order to be saved. In a sense, I did live in two places and experienced both worlds. None of them is an ideal place to live but I never complain. There are worst situations than mine. There is no horizon to look at where I am now. In order to see it, I have to travel far, and when I reach there the view is often disappointing. How I wish I could say how I long for the peace and quiet of my childhood when sitting on a breakwater whole day was my only concern, but I would be lying. So, I would wish for peace of mind instead and hope it comes before I know I have lived between two places.
“There are only three kinds of scenes: A fight, a seduction, or a negotiation.” – Mike Nichols
“Maybe each human being lives in a unique world, a private world different from those inhabited and experienced by all other humans. . . If reality differs from person to person, can we speak of reality singular, or shouldn’t we really be talking about plural realities? And if there are plural realities, are some truer (more real) than others? What about the world of a schizophrenic? Maybe it’s as real as our world. Maybe we cannot say that we are in touch with reality and he is not, but should instead say, His reality is so different from ours that he can’t explain his to us, and we can’t explain ours to him. The problem, then, is that if subjective worlds are experienced too differently, there occurs a breakdown in communication … and there is the real illness.”
In the deepening spring of May, I had no choice but to recognize the trembling of my heart. It usually happened as the sun was going down. In the pale evening gloom, when the soft fragrance of magnolias hung in the air, my heart would swell without warning, and tremble, and lurch with a stab of pain. I would try clamping my eyes shut and gritting my teeth, and wait for it to pass. And it would pass –but slowly, taking its own time, and leaving a dull ache behind.