“But with you, the silence is never awkward. It’s never something forced upon me by the overwrought rules of polite conversation. The silence — both internal and in our interactions — is one of calm, of peaceful conviction and satisfaction. I am reminded, in those warmly quiet moments, of dogs lying in the sunlight with their belly facing the window. All day, they’ve been running. All day, all they long to do is make noise and play and be seen. But when the sun hits them just right and surrounds them on all sides with that hushed kind of comfort, they have never been more happy to be still.”
Yoko Ono - Grapefruit (1964)
Love this. One of my favorites from Art History.
(Source: likeafieldmouse)
I use to use jealousy as a sign of knowing for a fact that I was in love. As I look back on it, I only now realize how foolish I have been. I guess time and growth has made me a less jealous and envious person. I find myself able to brush things off. Maybe it’s the weed. Maybe it’s having more self-confidence; knowing who you are. Maybe it’s realizing how life works—knowing about grown up things, about poverty, and hunger, and what true joy feels like. I was only kidding myself by using this deteriorating, painful, and tormenting thing as a measuring stick. Jealousy could never possibly measure love because it is the complete opposite.
Last night I had a dream that the sun burst into fire and then left us in a world of darkness.
What you wrote left my head reeling, spinning, in fact. It made me want to hold your hand. Or just hold you. To feel some type of tenderness coming from within you. To have you look me in the eye and see what it is that is stirring inside me. Maybe in that instance you would figure out what I didn’t know; what I couldn’t put my finger on. It was something in the tone of what you wrote; you seemed to be longing. And it made me feel like we were sitting together, on the same page, wrapped up in the same book; our author keeping us together for God knows why. But all I know right now, is that I miss you.
The passing shadows of big, fluffy clouds on rolling hills is such an elegant and mystical site for the eye to see. They dance ever so delicately, with just the right touch of drama and mystery.
WAR. What is it?
Wikipedia defines it as an “organized, armed, and often prolonged conflict that is carried on between states, nations, or other parties typified by extreme aggression, social disruption, and usually high mortality.”
The sad realization that I came to the other day, while rolling down the window in my car, was that that definition sounded a lot like high school. And an even better metaphor… it sounded a lot like life in general.
War resides in most of us; apart from the armed forces and Soldiers of our country, we just don’t realize it.
War is survival… essentially. It’s emotion, hunger, battle, conflict, love.
War is not only bloodshed between nations, but a never-ending crusade within ourselves.
It is the thought of him walking away. The way she bites her lip. That curve in the small of her back, or the movement of her hips. War is knowing you can’t have her. War is striving for happiness and pure joy. War is guilt or shame. It’s physical, mental. Possession. Triumph. Victory. Patriotism. It’s heartbreak and abundance, all at the same time.
We are born. Our pure bodies thrust into arms that could hurt us and into a world mostly against us. War is simply how we withstand this—stand up for ourselves; our country; our rights—crumbling under the pressure, or igniting into a beautiful, bursting flame, catching fire to everything it comes in contact with. The beauty is that we are our own personal, unique weapon to serve, to smile, to grow with.
