[dreamshopehappiness]

[catherine-grace]

It came to Fern that we are all part of one vast patttern of Being, the real world and the shadow-world, sunlight and werelight, Man and spirit, and to understand and accept that was the first step toward the abnegation of ego, the affirmation of soul.

Propsero’s Children by Jan Siegel (via catherine-grace)

[elizabethgadd]

Oneness (by Elizabeth Gadd)

[hplyrikz]

Clear your mind here

[hplyrikz]

[optimiststargazer]

[self-medicated-l0ve]

[deasuprazeilor]

✖GuyWithFeelings✖

[mybeautifulwonderfuldreams-blog]

[rexvenge]

[nopleasestay-here]

I will live in my dreams. I promise.

(via aligb96)

[catherine-grace]

I’ll tell you a secrect: there is no television beyond the Gate of Death. Neither in Heaven nor in Hell. All we are allowed to see is our own lives and the lives of those we touched; an endless replaying of our yesterdays, all our failures, all our mistaskes. Think of that, ere your time comes. Live yourself a life worth watching before it’s too late.

Alimond,The Dragon Charmer, Jan Siegel (via catherine-grace)

[the-concealed-ambry]

The mermaid rose out of deep water into the stormheart. Being a creature with no soul, she was without fear of the elements which had engendered her. She rode the giant waves like a child on a switchback, sucked laughing into terrible black chasms of water, then hurled skyward toward the plunging clouds, riding the sea-crests with her hair lashing in the wind. Lightning illumined her for an instant, an efreet of the ocean, face a-scream with glee, slanting bones and elongated eyes sloping back from the pointed nose and tapering chin. It was a misshapen imitation of a human visage, formed perhaps by some pagan Creator who had caught only the briefest glimpse of Man. Her storm-tossed body was almost androgynous, flat-breasted, fish-pale, the ectopic nether limb glistening steel-silver with scales, each jagged fin shot with the needle-glint of poisonous spines. Above her, thunderhead clouds were piled into toppling cliffs of airborne water; the wind came roaring from the throat of the sky. More lightningflashes, almost incessant now, picked her out in every motion of her wild play, leaping, diving, tumbling, amidst the heaving mountains and rocking valleys of the ocean. She could not remember another such storm, never in all her uncounted years on Earth. Always alone, alienated both from Man and beast, a careless elemental for whom the waters were mother and lover, lifeblood and home.

From Prospero’s Children by Jan Siegel (via the-concealed-ambry)

[catherine-grace]

I sometimes think mankind is dangerously arrogant. We do a few sums, and then claim we have the universe off pat. We measure the spaces between the stars, and declare them empty. We set limit on infinity. We are like the occupants of a closed room; having worked out everything within the range of our knowledge, we announce that the room and its contents are all that exists. Nothing beyond. Nothing unseen or unknown, incalcuable or ineffable. That is it. And then every so often God lifts the veil—twitches the curtain—and gives us a glimpse, just a glimpse, of something more.

Gus Dinsdale, Prospero’s Children by Jan Siegel (via catherine-grace)

[dreamshopehappiness]

[catherine-grace]

The lights are man-made. Electricty and Neon. Only the stars are real.

Will, Prospero’s Children, Jan Siegel (via catherine-grace)

[sexylittlethingsxx-deactivated2]

[hplyrikz]

Clear your mind here