ByCoastal

is there no way out of the mind?

[bycoastal]

vision of the world as it's made new

remnants of a life i was born into

well there was a love that I know that I knew

all things change but nothing’s new

[bycoastal]

11.2016

There are some who, all their lives, feel themselves more souls than the bodies which harbor them. She shares, and a secret world leaps into being between you: some treehouse made of ether, some medium by which, through indirection, she is known more directly. Here is this third thing, this bread, this wine, a sacrament. Here is this essay I found; here is a book. Take, eat, read. Listen to this song. Come, make this world together with me.

Is this not the business of gods, to make worlds? Should we leave it to them? A hallowed space where what is on its own all moss and rock and root may, together here, be transfigured, changed, elevated? Here is where matter changes. Here is transsubstantiation. Our bodies are real sacraments of our persons, our presence. And why should they not be?

She is champagne and gunpowder. Class with a bang. She is driven and focused, intelligent and deliberate, has poems sent to her inbox every morning and keeps the white tulips I bought her where she can see them.

She is a sun, but small, and white hot. Energy crammed too dense: blazing, raging, quiet. There she is! Fury. Silence. Gravity. Watch close.

There she is! Blazing, Searing into my psyche In a million ways I didn't know I wanted to be wanted And seen And known

[bycoastal]

[bycoastal]

[birdasaurus]

Andrew Gallo

[bycoastal]

“Everything That Was Broken” by Mary Oliver

[bycoastal]

Wild Geese by Mary Oliver

You do not have to be good. You do not have to walk on your knees for a hundred miles through the desert repenting. You only have to let the soft animal of your body love what it loves. Tell me about despair, yours, and I will tell you mine. Meanwhile the world goes on. Meanwhile the sun and the clear pebbles of the rain are moving across the landscapes, over the prairies and the deep trees, the mountains and the rivers. Meanwhile the wild geese, high in the clean blue air, are heading home again. Whoever you are, no matter how lonely, the world offers itself to your imagination, calls to you like the wild geese, harsh and exciting- over and over announcing your place In the family of things. 

[bycoastal]

[bycoastal]

“I like his warmth and his bigness and his being-there and his making and his jokes and stories and what he reads and how he likes fishing and walks and pigs and foxes and little animals and is honest and not vain or fame-crazy and how he shows his gladness for what I cook him and joy for when I make him something, a poem or a cake, and how he is troubled when I am unhappy and wants to do anything so I can fight out my soul-battles and grow up with courage and a philosophical ease."

Silvia Plath

[vauxshop]

[anitanh]

[bycoastal]

[birdasaurus]

The Style Line

[bycoastal]

[bycoastal]

"I need someone. I need to hold somebody close. And I need more than this holding. I need someone to understand how I feel at a time like now. And the understanding must be part of the holding."

Betty Smith, A Tree Grows in Brooklyn

[wabisabimind]

@skinny_wolf

[lemieletlalune]

Monday’s are my favorite