I painted some wood today.I chose the colour white.
I am giving new garden life to an old palate left to die.
There is some left, right here at my feet; I have been gazing upon it as it shows itself to me.
Of course I would build it, a picket fence that is, to protect and mark the space where a home lies still.
But I am still sitting here with these images in my mind, wood still lying waiting for me to give it life.
For it is not for lonely hands to build a fence; it is a symbol of joining lives, it is a matter of wanting time to have the passion it lacks; but for now I join the wood half alive, but feeling the desire to come to life
I had to see.
as I stood
what I felt,
where I stand
that I have
that I was
to the song
of my heart;
in my ear.”—
Willow trees, they have roots that surface on the ground. Between the them there’s a natural space almost created to welcome you to sit.
The ground is damp and the shadow is protective. Even though it’s dense, if you look up you can still cast the sky, whether is grey or blue.
All around, under a Willow tree, you can hear my favorite sound; the sound of the wind passing through the branches and making the leaves dance.
There, in that space, one with all and all with one there’s peace.
There, I remain sitting down; my knees on my chest, my arms hugging my legs, my head resting on top of my bended limbs and my gaze quietly regarding my feet on the earth.
Under a Weeping Willow tree.
“The way of illumination seems dark
going forward seems like retreat,
the easy way seems hard,
true power seems weak,
true purity seems tarnished,
true clarity seems obscure,
the greatest art seems unsophisticated,
the greatest love seems indifferent,
the greatest wisdom seems childish.”—from the 41st verse of the Tao Te Ching (Lao-Tzu)
I wake up
to the waves
I ask them
their water to me
as clear as I can see,
and I let them
to open sea.
they come and go,
moving me around
close to the shore
and I know
their gentle sound.
back and forth
it was their chore,
they show me
and raise me
with their tides.
yet I return
to dry ground
“the one was deep and wide and beautiful, but slow and blended with an immeasurable sorrow from which its beauty chiefly came. the other had now achieved a unity of its own; but it was loud and vain and endlessly repeated; and it had little harmony but rather a clamorous unison as of many trumpets braying upon a few notes. And it essayed to drown the other music by the violence of its voice, but it seemed that its most triumphant notes were taken by the other and woven into its own solemn pattern.”—
“he had gone often alone into the void places seeking the imperishable flame; for desire grew hot within him to bring into beings things of his own, and it seems that Illuvatar took no thought for the Void, and he was impatient of its emptiness. Yet he found not the Fire, for it is with Illuvatar. But being alone he had begun to conceive thoughts of his own unlike those of his brethren.”—The Silmarilion. J.R.R. Tolkien.
“In spite of all our communication technology, no invention is as effective as the sound of the human voice. When we hear the human voice, we instinctively want to listen in hopes of understanding it even when the speaker is searching for the right words to say, even when all we hear is yelling, or crying, or singing. That’s because the human voice resonates differently from anything else in the world. That’s why we can hear a singers voice over the sound of a full orchestra. We will always hear that singer, no matter what else surrounds it”—
“For indeed my life is a perpetual question mark – my thirst for books, my observations of people, all tend to satisfy a great, overwhelming desire to know, to understand, to find an answer to a million questions. And gradually the answers are revealed, many things are explained, and above all, many things are given names and described, and my restlessness is subdued. Then I become and exclamatory person, clapping my hands to the immense surprises the world holds for me, and falling from one ecstasy into another. I have the habit of peeping and prying and listening and seeking – passionate curiosity and expectation. But I have also the habit of being surprised, the habit of being filled with wonder and satisfaction each time I stumble on some wondrous thing.”—Anaïs Nin (via modernhepburn)
of the truth.
what to do
nor it heals;
it does not
it is there
for I to see.
It’s not one
but many things
I use words
I don’t write
That wind that carries the smell of life woke me up this morning. It is today that my skin felt the warmth of the sky while my hands became the perfect tool to salute the ground.
That life, the one that comes from the ground, making its way, almost against all odds searching for the sun in order to blossom, in order to open up and give away parts of itself is the life that I will carefully handle to-day.
Its a respectful meditation, a true interaction, a peaceful labour. Its also a discovery of wonders for tiny hands with big eyes and an open mind.
It’s a special day.
yet, not complete.
Life as I will witness today carries a message of being, of growing and of giving. Of searching for that sun, even when one is buried distance under-ground.
“Seven billion people on a tiny planet, suspended in the vastness of space, all alone. How we make sense of that is the great mystery of our frail existence. Maybe it’s being alone in the universe that holds us all together, keeps us needing one another in the smallest of ways. Creating a quantum entanglement of you, of me, of us. And if that’s really true, then we live in a world where anything is possible.”—Touch