“Until one is committed, there is hesitancy, the chance to draw back. Concerning all acts of initiative (and creation), there is one elementary truth, the ignorance of which kills countless ideas and splendid plans: that the moment one definitely commits oneself, then Providence moves too. All sorts of things occur to help one that would never otherwise have occurred. A whole stream of events issues from the decision, raising in one’s favor all manner of unforeseen incidents and meetings and material assistance, which no man could have dreamed would have come his way. Whatever you can do, or dream you can do, begin it. Boldness has genius, power, and magic in it. Begin it now.”
I woke up exhausted from one of these dreams where I walk around in endless hallways looking for…something. I put my hands on my forehead and tried to trace back my dream from memory. I wanted to find the feeling and mood to get some grip to what this could be about. The morning sunshine was warming my skin and underneath my chest my heart felt sore. A sensation of annoyance was whirling around in my body. I’ve only known survival anxiety as my motivational drive. Now I’m no longer scared. Then what? How can I navigate? Am I’m supposed to find motivation in doing what I love? I’m ambivalent about that. I don’t always feel good about doing things I love. Very often I feel guilty doing things the things I love. So for now I think I will do things which give me energy. I can navigate from that. That’s where I’ll begin.
“Don’t surrender your loneliness so quickly.
let it cut more deep.
Let it ferment and season you
as few human or even divine ingredients can.
Something missing in my heart tonight
has made my eyes so soft
my voice so tender
my need of good
“People usually consider walking on water or in thin air a miracle. But I think the real miracle is not to walk either on water or in thin air, but to walk on earth. Every day we are engaged in a miracle which we don’t even recognize: a blue sky, white clouds, green leaves, the black, curious eyes of a child — our own two eyes. All is a miracle.”
—Thich Nhat Hanh, from The Miracle of Mindfulness
I am not a hero;
I cannot fix you. I am not strong;
I cannot save you. I am weak;
I cannot melt the frozen, broken places in you. I am insufficient;
I cannot heal your pain. But I have hope, because I can do much more than that.
I can love you.
“Swallowed by the crevasses of the dusty whiteness, a purity of particles to digest into the belly of her portal of creative forces, that gather together to create societies weaved through the energy of all who choose to open their hearts, to greet with smiles, to create a dream we commonly share. To be expressed as we are. To create worlds that represent our souls burning fires. The passions and seeds of the fruits that feed and nourish our souls. The ground, the wind, the dust glues our sweaty bodies together to create a melding of a world where landscapes appear to be a distant planet we have imagined while gazing at the stars. Where everything makes sense, where intentions are rules that rule a kingdom of the heart. Hats are our shade and luminescent colors are the pallets of our paintings. The strokes and brushes create us and when the dust storms arrive you are welcome. Always you are welcome. Time has no place and the space is your creation. Breath in the scorching air, exhale your dreams. Dance on your vibration and as you step up a step powered by the heart hold my hand as I gently hold hers, and shift like the dusty winds. Tornados of energetic integrity spitting gifts of love across the breeze. Please as you move through this cosmic sea, dance with grace. Take this place, this part of your heart and fertilize the world, leaving trails of light glittering like the open night sky. I am the shooting star I wish upon. Exploding vibrant forces and rhythms heard in the beat of the earth, the beat of the heart, the beat of our dream.
“The only people for me are the mad ones,
the ones who are mad to live, mad to talk,
mad to be saved,
desirous of everything at the same time,
the ones who never yawn or say a commonplace thing,
but burn, burn, burn like fabulous yellow roman candles exploding like spiders across the stars.”
– Jack Kerouac, On the Road
Copyright 2014 Picks was created in WordPress by Obox Themes.