“"I will not die an unlived life. I will not live in fear of falling or catching fire.I choose to inhabit my days, to allow my living to open me, to make me less afraid, more accessible, to loosen my heart until it becomes a wing, a torch, a promise. I choose to risk my significance; to live so that which comes to me as seed goes to the next as blossom and that which comes to me as blossom, goes on as fruit."
~ Dawna Markova”—(via seedeeply)
“It is difficult to speak of the night.
It is the other time. Not
an absence of day.
But where there are no flowers
to turn away into.
There is only this dark
and the familiar place of my body.”—Jack Gilbert, opening lines to “It is Difficult to Speak of the Night,” Poetry (January 1965)
“And that night there was no question of moon, nor any other light, but it was a night of listening, a night given to the faint soughing and sighing stirring at night in little pleasure gardens, the shy sabbath of leaves and petals and the air that eddies there as it does not in other places, where there is less constraint, and as it does not during the day, when there is more vigilance, and then something else that is not clear, being neither the air nor what it moves, perhaps the far unchanging noise the earth makes and which other noises cover, but not for long. For they do not account for that noise you hear when you really listen, when all seems hushed. And there was another noise, that of my life become the life of this garden as it rode the earth of deeps and wildernesses. Yes, there were times when I forgot not only who I was, but that I was, forgot to be
“The birdcalls start their praise.
And rightly so. We listen long.
(We behind masks, in costumes!)
What do we hear? a little willfulness,
a little sadness, and tremendous promise,
sawing away at the half-locked future.
And in between, healing in our listening:
the beautiful silence they break.”—Rainer Maria Rilke, “Val-Mont, mid-March 1926,” in Uncollected Poems (1909-1926), translated by Edward Snow (North Point Press, 1995)
“An emotion is only an emotion. It’s just a small part of your whole being. You are much more than your emotion. An emotion comes, stays for a while, and goes away, just like a storm. If you’re aware of that, you won’t be afraid of your emotions.”—Thích Nhất Hạnh (via creatingaquietmind)
“This is the light of the mind, cold and planetary.
The trees of the mind are black. The light is blue.
The grasses unload their griefs on my feet as if I were God.”—Sylvia Plath, from “The Moon and the Yew Tree,” in Ariel (Faber and Faber, 1965)