(via journalofanobody)
Friday, April 19, 2013If the path before you is clear, you’re probably on someone else’s.
(Joseph Campbell)
As you start to walk out on the way, the way appears.
(Rumi)
You will sit in the backyard under darkness and snow-heavy branches and smoke fast until your throat is raw, until the ember is so far down it’s burning your knuckles. You will think of nothing but the old couple across the yard, how sometimes at night you’ll see them through the window playing board games by candlelight, one hand free to move the pieces, one hand holding the other’s across the table. You will want this for the rest of your life.
Jonathan Starke, The Unraveling Ties of the Universe
(via journalofanobody)
You dared disturb the universe and it has brought you breakfast in bed.
Pancakes are delicious.
Yanick and I have started a tumblr dedicated to the lesser known psalms.
Check it out. Give them some love - they need it, being that they’re apocryphal and all.
(via againstsilenceandnoise)
“And forget not that the earth delights to feel your bare feet and the winds long to play with your hair.”
—Kahlil Gibran, from The Prophet (Alfred A. Knopf, 1923)
Wednesday, April 17, 2013
this happened today
Tuesday, April 16, 2013What I remember is the amazing light in that place, how it flooded in as if there was no real separation between inside and outside, and everything - what little there was - seemed to be set afloat in it…I saw that same extraordinary light in the early apartments of other friends. Why there? The defiant absence of anything over the windows, I guess. Maybe it was just as simple as that.
Joyce Johnson, Minor Characters
(via journalofanobody)
Monday, April 15, 2013
sunday brunch is the highlight of my week.
Sunday, April 14, 2013
Carys Davies, The Bright Field, 2011
Stack of eight thrown porcelain plates, 20cm diameter, celadon glazes, inscribed with the RS Thomas poem ‘The Bright Field’.
I have seen the sun break through
to illuminate a small field
for a while, and gone my way
and forgotten it. But that was the pearl
of great price, the one field that had
treasure in it. I realize now
that I must give all that I have
to possess it. Life is not hurrying
on to a receding future, nor hankering after
an imagined past. It is the turning
aside like Moses to the miracle
of the lit bush, to a brightness
that seemed as transitory as your youth
once, but is the eternity that awaits you.
(via journalofanobody)
