I love wild flowers...there's something powerful about being invisibly omnipresent; uncommonly beautiful. Just there without seeking to be found or noticed. Unlucky for them I go looking and I find them to show my little world how inconspicuously beautiful they are...in all their 5mm tiny glory. Wildflowers survive no matter what...they don't need special care, they do what they have to in order to make it. I can relate to that.
Loving oneself isn't hard, when you understand who and what 'yourself' is. It has nothing to do with the shape of your face, the size of your eyes, the length of your hair or the quality of your clothes. It's so beyond all of those things and it's what gives life to everything about you. Your own self is such a treasure.
~ Phylicia Rashad
“The paradox of our time in history is that we have taller buildings but shorter tempers, wider Freeways, but narrower viewpoints. We spend more, but have less, we buy more, but enjoy less. We have bigger houses and smaller families, more conveniences, but less time. We have more degrees but less sense, more knowledge, but less judgment, more experts, yet more problems, more medicine, but less wellness.
We drink too much, smoke too much, spend too recklessly, laugh too little, drive too fast, get too angry, stay up too late, get up too tired, read too little, watch TV too much, and pray too seldom. We have multiplied our possessions, but reduced our values. We talk too much, love too seldom, and hate too often.
We've learned how to make a living, but not a life. We've added years to life not life to years. We've been all the way to the moon and back, but have trouble crossing the street to meet a new neighbor. We conquered outer space but not inner space. We've done larger things, but not better things.
We've cleaned up the air, but polluted the soul. We've conquered the atom, but not our prejudice. We write more, but learn less. We plan more, but accomplish less. We've learned to rush, but not to wait. We build more computers to hold more information, to produce more copies than ever, but we communicate less and less.
These are the times of fast foods and slow digestion, big men and small character, steep profits and shallow relationships.
These are the days of two incomes but more divorce, fancier houses, but broken homes. These are days of quick trips, disposable diapers, throwaway morality, one night stands, overweight bodies, and pills that do everything from cheer, to quiet, to kill. It is a time when there is much in the showroom window and nothing in the stockroom. A time when technology can bring this letter to you, and a time when you can choose either to share this insight, or to just hit delete.
~ Bob Moorehead
There's a crack in everything. That's how the light gets in.
~ Leonard Cohen
“A water bearer in India had two large pots, each hung on each end of a pole which he carried across his neck. One of the pots had a crack in it, and while the other pot was perfect and always delivered a full portion of water at the end of the long walk from the stream to the master’s house, the cracked pot arrived only half full.
For a full two years this went on daily, with the bearer delivering only one and a half pots full of water in his master’s house. Of course, the perfect pot was proud of its accomplishments, perfect to the end for which it was made. But the poor cracked pot was ashamed of its own imperfection, and miserable that it was able to accomplish only half of what it had been made to do.
After two years of what it perceived to be a bitter failure, it spoke to the water bearer one day by the stream. “I am ashamed of myself, and I want to apologize to you. “Why?” asked the bearer. “What are you ashamed of?” “I have been able, for these past two years, to deliver only half my load because this crack in my side causes water to leak out all the way back to your master’s house. Because of my flaws, you have to do all of this work, and you don’t get full value from your efforts,” the pot said.
The water bearer felt sorry for the old cracked pot, and in his compassion he said, “As we return to the master’s house, I want you to notice the beautiful flowers along the path.” Indeed, as they went up the hill, the old cracked pot took notice of the sun warming the beautiful wild flowers on the side of the path, and this cheered it somewhat. But at the end of the trail, it still felt bad because it had leaked out half its load, and so again it apologized to the bearer for its failure.
The bearer said to the pot, “Did you notice that there were flowers only on your side of your path, but not on the other pot’s side? That’s because I have always known about your flaw, and I took advantage of it. I planted flower seeds on your side of the path, and every day while we walk back from the stream, you’ve watered them. For two years I have been able to pick these beautiful flowers to decorate my master’s table. Without you being just the way you are, he would not have this beauty to grace his house.”
Moral: Each of us has our own unique flaws. We’re all cracked pots. In this world, nothing goes to waste. You may think like the cracked pot that you are inefficient or useless in certain areas of your life, but somehow these flaws can turn out to be a blessing in disguise.”
I cannot stand being told what to do and as a non-confrontational and silent rebel who prefers to observe, it's one of the worst things for me. Having had to fend for myself from a very young age I think I've got scars and light enough all over me to have earned the right not to be told what to do by people who do not know my soul or who have no interest in getting to know it.
It's a middle finger day. To anyone with no effing tact.
So...*deep breath in* here are some beautiful petals and wings of a concept that popped in my head that I did last night to balance this itchy aggravated energy out.
We all have ethereal wings...some just don't have the courage to use them.
Life is enigmatically beautiful; a flow; an advance into life and an ebb; a retreat into death and with that we are touched by the waves of emotion that wash over our soul as we bear witness to the miracle of what life really is. On the 18th of December 2015 Lady Black Button laid her first egg sac which was followed soon after by a second egg sac on 23 December. Unfortunately Mom did not make it to see the fruits of her labour emerge on the 10th of January 2016 into the arms of a brand new world that will welcome the cycle again. We are all given this gift of life...we get one chance to make it what we desire. One. Our choice.
There’s something special about hands.
I don’t know what or why or even where it comes from
but I could sit
and watch hands move
and make and sooth
and create and tie
and wash and dry
and manufacture magic
out of the pure nothingness the air provides them
when they illustrate
that float from your lips.
There are stories, so many stories
in the wrinkles of palms
and the tiny smiles where your thumb’s knuckle
decides to bend.
What will these hands say, when roughed and scarred
and wrinkled and slowly clenched closed?
What, when our bodies pull our fingers to a quiet fist
in a final act of defiance against the aging we are fighting,
will those stories be?
These hands will be cut and burned and blackened
with ash as we sift through
what we set fire to.
We are the remains
when the excuses have been burned down
and the colors of life will hide under
We are these hands
tough but gentle and strong but soft.
were made for building and holding
painting and writing
and drawing inkless art
on the canvas of bare skin.
Listen to the words my hands say
as they trace the lines of yours,
hear the whispers as they cartwheel
down your back.
These hands tell stories
and I’ll spend my life wondering
what your hands
tell my hands
when your fingers
find my fingers
and wrap tightly around.
-Tyler Knott Gregson-
How I see it...
I see, speak and write in metaphors because I feel there is much we can learn from nature, people and our surroundings as depicted in my photographs and why I enjoy sharing my thoughts. Not in any attempt to convince or convert you to my way of thinking, seeing or feeling but to share how I see and experience MY mind map of the world. You at no time have to agree, all I ask is that my views and the views of others who wish to express theirs are kindly respected. So relax, get comfy and just enjoy. Happy reading!