[maviyenot]

[0sf3]

[ponpon-witness]

[deepdiveastro]

[molebucks-deactivated20150826]

how can i communicate to wild bunnies that i am their ally

[papayajuan2019]

will you just let me be silly for a sec. there's this dread so ancient in me

[shisasan]

The winds that awakened the stars Are blowing through my blood. William Butler Yeats, Mad Quiet (1939)

[seamossdoll]

[half-a-corpse-half-a-poet]

-Clarice Lispector

[halfmachinegirl]

[mournfulroses]

D. H. Lawrence, from The Complete Works; “The Rainbow,” written c. 1919

[zegalba]

[dk-thrive]

In a life properly lived, you’re a river. You touch things lightly or deeply; you move along because life herself moves, and you can’t stop it; you can’t figure out a banal game plan applicable to all situations; you just have to go with the "beingness" of life.

— Jim Harrison, The Art of Fiction No. 104, Issue 107, Summer 1988. Interview by Jim Fergus. (via The Hammock Papers)

[da-da-sk]

Henry Justice Ford (1860 – 1941)

[fuckin-man-suit]

Behind a Little House, by Manuel Cosentino

[eatmangoesnekkid]

Becoming one‘s best self includes experiencing massive amounts of grief around who you are no longer. All the old patterns you let go of, all the ways you allow your ego to take a backseat in order to meet what is real and most truthful, all the new brighter information you feed your nervous system about who and what you really are, all the habits and coping mechanisms you break, all the acts you no longer engage, all the ways of thinking and perceiving you no longer participate in, all of it comes with various levels of grief. When you stop pushing away and recoiling from grief, you begin to open and expand enormously inside of it and witness how loving, lush and wise grief has always been. —India Ame’ye

[heavenhillgirl]