
Origami Around
DEAR READER
he wasn't even looking at me and he found me

PR's Tumblrdome
I'd rather be in outer space đ¸
YOU ARE THE REASON

shark vs the universe

if i look back, i am lost
NASA
Claire Keane

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taylor price
wallacepolsom
sheepfilms

blake kathryn

JVL
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almost home

tannertan36
One Nice Bug Per Day
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@mombot3000
âIf we are to recover the part of us that is most human, we must willingly put aside the parts of us that are not.â
Cloistered Away
Earlier this year we went over the evaluation results for my son with the doctor.
Andrea Gibson, The Madness Vase
Song for a Daughter
by Ursula K. Le Guin
Mother of my granddaughter, listen to my song: A mother canât do right, a daughter canât be wrong. I have no claim whatever on amnesty from you; nor will she forgive you for anything you do. So are we knit together by force of opposites, the daughter that unravels the skein the mother knits. One must be divided so that one be whole, and this is the duplicity alleged of womanâs soul. To be that heavy mother who weighs in every thing is to be the daughter whose footstep is the Spring. Granddaughter of my mother, listen to my song: Nothing you do will ever be right, nothing you do is wrong.
Kate Jenkins
Most things worth doing don't yield quick results. Patience requires us to bow to the muse within-whether what she seeks is a right society, an unshackled creativity, or any number of other good things. We hold tightly to our dreams while relaxing our grip on their timeline. To be truly patient is to fight and surrender simultaneously.
- Shannon K Evans, Rewilding Motherhood
âThe roaring of lions, the howling of wolves, the raging of the stormy sea, and the destructive sword, are portions of eternity too great for the eye of man.â
- William Blake, from âProverbs of Hell,â The Marriage of Heaven and Hell
âWash the plate not because it is dirty nor because you are told to wash it, but because you love the person who will use it next.â
- Saint Teresa of Calcutta
On a trip to the grocery store one day, I had an epiphany about me, my son, and the meaning of life.
âItâs because, for so many people, our safest, sweetest, earliest memories are of nestling in our motherâs lap, in her rocking warmth, hearing her sing as we get milk-drunk and sleepy and burrow, heavy-eyed, into the crook of her soft arm. And if you knew that your motherâs journey was, intrinsically, a heroâs journey â if that was in any way an established narrative in our culture â youâd have to accept that this memory of womb-like safety, this foundation upon which so much of our identity is built, was often just an illusion. Youâd have to realize that while you were blissed out on your motherâs lap, one of those epic battles, the kind that envelops heroes as they fight their way out of a ring of fire, was raging just above your head. No one wants to believe that in the moments you felt the most peaceful, the woman cradling you so softly was shielding you from a sword that she herself was holding.
Every mother you know is in this fight with herself. The sword that hangs over her is a sword of exhaustion, of frustration, of patience run dry, a sword of indignation at how little she feels like a human when she so often has to look and behave like an animal. Mostly, it is the sword of rage: the rage and shock of how completely she must annihilate herself to keep her child alive.â
Japanese Zen Rock Garden Toast, Manami Sasaki
Malika Favre
Something so satisfying
âDrink from the well of yourself and begin again.â
Charles Bukowski.
Hello Darkness, David Ălvarez