Into the Ether

Nurturing my inner witch

[lunchboxpoems]

Dust

Someone spoke to me last night, told me the truth. Just a few words, but I recognized it. I knew I should make myself get up, write it down, but it was late, and I was exhausted from working all day in the garden, moving rocks. Now, I remember only the flavor- not like food, sweet or sharp. More like a fine powder, like dust. And I wasn’t elated or frightened, but simply rapt, aware. That’s how it is sometimes- God comes to your window, all bright light and black wings, and you’re just too tired to open it.  - Dorianne Laux

[lunchboxpoems]

THE SCIENCES SING A LULLABY

Physics says: go to sleep. Of course you’re tired. Every atom in you has been dancing the shimmy in silver shoes nonstop from mitosis to now. Quit tapping your feet. They’ll dance inside themselves without you. Go to sleep.

Geology says: it will be all right. Slow inch by inch America is giving itself to the ocean. Go to sleep. Let darkness lap at your sides. Give darkness an inch. You aren’t alone. All of the continents used to be one body. You aren’t alone. Go to sleep.

Astronomy says: the sun will rise tomorrow, Zoology says: on rainbow-fish and lithe gazelle, Psychology says: but first it has to be night, so Biology says: the body-clocks are stopped all over town and History says: here are the blankets, layer on layer, down and down.

ALBERT GOLDBARTH

[quotespile]

Trees fall with spectacular crashes. But planting is silent and growth is invisible.

Richard Powers, The Overstory (via quotespile)

[ladyhistory]

The Captioned Adventures of George Washington - Independence Day Edition #2

PART I | PART II | PART III | PART IV | PART V | PART VI |PART VII | PART VIII | PART IX | PART X | PART XI |PART XII | PART XIII | PART XIV | PART XV | PART XVI |PART XVII | PART XVIII | PART XIX | PART XX | PART XXI

[philosophybits]

“I am suffocated and lost when I have not the bright feeling of progression.”

— Margaret Fuller, Memoirs of Margaret Fuller Ossoli

[ramonameisel]

I am a soul lost in translation. A mystery to myself. Trudge through days and days forgetting that life is a gift. A haunting gift with sharp edges and blurred lines. I am in-between. A watercolor portrait of grainy colors blending into the shape of my lips. The moon losing her head when the sun rises. Maybe we were constellations. Stars aligned in the same picture. Maybe we lost ourselves. I’m losing my mind. Do you still think of me? I do. Always. Maybe you are lonely. Maybe I was, too.

[philosophybits]

“The deepest principle of human nature is the craving to be appreciated.”

— William James, The Letters of William James

[wild-cabins]

phil

[nikkynarrates]

[alhwrites]

I feel like other people maybe have a bigger impact on me than I do on them. I adore humanity, so I tend to hold on to whoever and whatever I can. The memories, experiences, and feelings I share with another person affect me so much. They help me change and grow, molding me into a better version of myself. I think other people are so wonderful and valuable and special, even if they weren’t the nicest to me. I think about them often, and am always thankful for the time we had together. Or, at the very least, thankful for the lessons I learned from them. A part of me will miss them forever; once you’re important to me, you stay that way, however much. I still have love for everyone I’ve ever cared about, all circumstances aside. But I can’t imagine anyone feeling the same in regards to me. It’s like I’m a speck of dust on the floor of a big house, something to overlook. A word in their vocabulary that isn’t spoken often. A fleeting moment that they won’t dwell on. A temporary character, someone they’re ready to leave behind. I can’t fathom someone remembering me once we exit each other’s lives, like all I am is forgettable. It doesn’t bother me too much, I guess, because you’re supposed to move on. That’s how it is. I just hope the people I’ve met got something positive or meaningful out of their time with me.

— alhwrites

[philosophybits]

Intelligence is quickness to apprehend as distinct from ability, which is capacity to act wisely on the thing apprehended.

Alfred North Whitehead, Dialogues (via philosophybits)

[ryebreadgf]

been thinking about trees

[ever-esther]

Always

[philosophybits]

We do things with language, produce effects with language, and we do things to language, but language is also the thing that we do. Language is a name for our doing: both “what” we do (the name for the action that we characteristically perform) and that which we effect, the act and its consequences.

Judith Butler, Excitable Speech (via philosophybits)

[minuty]

“The capacity to be alone is the capacity to love. It may look paradoxical to you, but it is not. It is an existential truth: only those people who are capable of being alone are capable of love, of sharing, of going into the deepest core of the other person—without possessing the other, without becoming dependent on the other, without reducing the other to a thing, and without becoming addicted to the other.”

—

[philosophybits]

“Possibility is not a luxury; it is as crucial as bread.”

— Judith Butler, Undoing Gender

[nicole-autumn]

[bocekcicek]

Giovanni Gasparro