We Are The Dark

The most beautiful experience we can have is the mysterious. It is the fundamental emotion which stands at the cradle of true art and true science. Whoever does not know it and can no longer wonder, no longer marvel, is as good as dead, and his eyes are dimmed. Einstein

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[days-of-reading]

Virginia Woolf’s corrected proofs for To The Lighthouse, at the Smith College Rare Book Room

[philipjfoster]

Delightful I think it to be in the bosom of an isle, on the peak of a rock, that I might often see there the calm of the sea. That I might see its heavy waves over the glittering ocean, as they chant a melody to their Father on their eternal course. That I might see its smooth strand of clear headlands, no gloomy thing; that I might hear the voice of its wondrous birds, a joyful tune. That I might hear the sound of the shallow waves against the rocks; that I might hear the cry by the graveyard, the noise of the sea. That I might see its splendid flocks of birds over the full-watered ocean; that I might see its mighty wales, greatest of wonders. That I might see its ebb and its flood-tide in their flow; that this might be my name, a secret I tell, "He who turned his back on Ireland." That contrition of heart should come upon me as I watch it; that I might bewail my many sins, difficult to declare. That I might bless the Lord who has power over all, heaven with its pure host of angels, earth, ebb, flood-tide."

Irish Monks (via Terri Windling

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Photoset: Lord of the Rings in Winter

[philipjfoster]

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Our lives are not our own. From womb to tomb we are bound to others, past and present, and by each crime and every kindness, we birth our future.

The Cloud Atlas (via tainteddreamer89)

[philipjfoster]

Don’t bother just to be better than your contemporaries or predecessors. Try to be better than yourself.

William Faulkner

[philipjfoster]

"There is a subtle state most urban walkers know, a sort of basking in solitude -- a dark solitude punctuated with encounters as the night sky is punctuated with stars -- one is altogether outside society, so solitude has a sensible geographical explanation, and there is a kind of communion with the nonhuman. In the city, one is alone because the world is made up of strangers, and to be a stranger surrounded by strangers, to walk along silently bearing one's secrets and imagining those of the people one passes, is among the starkest of luxuries. This uncharted identity with its illimitable possibilities is one of the distinctive qualities of urban living, a liberatory state for those who come to emancipate themselves from family and community expectation, to experiment with subculture and identity. It is an observer's state, cool, withdrawn, with senses sharpened, a good state for anybody who needs to reflect or create. In small doses, melancholy, alienation, and introspection are among life's most refined pleasures.

Rebecca Solnit Wanderlust: A History of Walking,

[philipjfoster]

To our indigenous ancestors, and to the many aboriginal peoples who still hold fast to their oral traditions, language is less a human possession than it is a property of the animate earth itself, an expressive, telluric power in which we, along with the coyotes and the crickets, all participate. Each creature enacts this expressive magic in its own manner, the honeybee with its waggle dance no less than a bellicose, harrumphing sea lion. ''Nor is this power restricted solely to animals. The whispered hush of the uncut grasses at dawn, the plaintive moan of trunks rubbing against one another in the deep woods, or the laughter of birch leaves as the wind gusts through their branches all bear a thicket of many-layered meanings for those who listen carefully.'' -

David Abram (Becoming Animal)

[philipjfoster]

Olá você tem twitter ou facebook, passa o link

Thank you! Twitter: WeAreTheDarkFacebook: Philip Foster (living in Utsunomiya, Japan)

[philipjfoster]

You have such a lovely blog! :)

Thank you very much!

[philipjfoster]

Every one of us is losing something precious to us. Lost opportunities, lost possibilities, feelings we can never get back again. That’s part of what it means to be alive

Haruki Murakami (Kafka on the Shore)

[philipjfoster]

“Perhaps the same bird echoed through both of us yesterday, separate, in the evening.”

Rainer Maria Rilke

[theparisreview]

Undersong of grief. A lifetime could be wasted Dreaming there, a lifetime Wasted not dreaming there.

—Phillis Levin, from “Another Room.” Photography: James Luckett.

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[itscolossal]

A Sea of 4.5 Million Baby Blue Eye Flowers in Japan’s Hitachi Seaside Park

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[observando]

I never need to find time to read. When people say to me, ‘Oh, yeah, I love reading. I would love to read, but I just don’t have time,’ I’m thinking, ‘How can you not have time?’ I read when I’m drying my hair. I read in the bath. I read when I’m sitting in the bathroom. Pretty much anywhere I can do the job one-handed, I read.

J.K. Rowling (via observando)