i'll be honest, i promise
black is beautiful

everything is much more clearer - more brighter - at night.

why do we always assume the dawn is better than dusk?

who gave the light its importance - that it should be so kind to grace us with its presence?

give us darkness

give us anonymity

give us surprise

give us the unknown.

why should we need to see all that is wrong with the day?

(Source: mindglimpse)

Posted: 4 months ago

it’s so hard to be and feel art when your creativity is being graded

Posted: 4 months ago
i need you

i need you now 

on top of me

sharing your most sacred secrets 

with the deepness of my soul

(Source: mindglimpse)

Posted: 9 months ago

you are all over me

through me 

under me

over me

and nowhere in sight. 

you are a hundred storms out of a sea of goodness

washed up on my shores of vulnerability

you pass with time 

but time does not pass

in my heart you are still here.

(Source: mindglimpse)

Posted: 9 months ago

like a stone overturned under the water’s surface

i remain still on the surface

underneath i am changed

never to be the same as i once was

Posted: 9 months ago

nothing she did
or said

was quite
what she meant

but still her life
could be called a monument

shaped in a slant
of available light

and set to the movement
of possible music

From “The Grandmother Cycle” by Judith Downing, Course Quarterly, Autumn
Cold Winter

She lay there, resting her heavy head full of wandering thoughts on her elbow. Watching the clock as the days passed between seconds, she realized what she was and was not doing. Alive. Not living. Being in a perpetual state of consciousness with the dying hope that she’d be revived. Her birds had left for the winter, and they weren’t coming back. What was it about the winter that seemed so cold? The snow was a silent mindfield of childhood memories and lonesome reminders. 

She lay there, touching the end of her frozen window sill. She was wide and opened for the world to see through her. Frozen in time. She opened her ice box of jewelry, full of dazzle and sparkling off of their own light. That is what she wished the most - to dazzle others with her light, instead of scare them off with her darkness. If only she knew how attractive the night was.

She got up, walking outside onto her moonlit street thick with the quietness of snow fall and crackling birch. The moon illuminated her steps as she allowed herself to fall onto it…or rather, it fall into her. Wrapped with the white blankets of the midnight sky she found comfort in her new world of solace. 

What was it about the winter that seemed so cold? She wondered as she fell asleep in its warm embrace.

Posted: 1 year ago
September 14, 2012

How vivid are these moments

When everything beyond the senses is heightened

When the world is deafened by the drone of silence

And we listen with our hearts to the sound of our world coming alive

In these moments,

we lay there, wary of each little thing.

The subtle undertone in their voices

The slightly pursed lips of disapproval

The gently raised eyebrows of questioning

The slow, deep sighs of surrender.

We take our last breaths as our most exonerated selves,

In our last moments we knew what it was to truly live.

Posted: 1 year ago

If ever you feel as though your life’s work

has come to pass without anchor

as it sails away,

remember that you are a wave that has 

lapped many times along the shore.

Posted: 1 year ago
Her resilience is inspiring. She built her own glass castle, carved her dreams into a reality, forgave and kept her family close. I love reading memoirs they allow one to pause and examine their own lives. Although its universal that everyone goes through hardships, its difficult to imagine even writing one that is honest without omissions- to have the sediments that had been able to sink into the depths rise and become visible. Yet somehow clarity always follows after a storm. Difficulty is universal. She was a lotus that grew in the mud. Pain is temporary and so worthwhile once every petal opens into place and blossoms out of the abyss to shine in the sun as the most beautiful flower, the lotus.
My friend on “The Glass Castle” by Jeannette Walls