The night is not enough. I want the day as well. I want to know and feel the heaviness of my limbs, the deep peacefulness of my breath. I want to feel myself pulled down, down, deep through the weight of earth, into the deep waters, where I shall float, perfectly unafraid, perfectly at peace. I want to drink in my own exhaustion and rejoice in it, greeting it with the same joy with which I greet the love of movement and light. I want to be embraced by my fatigue and allow it to carry me off into a new place of reverie, one that I rarely visit. It is a portal to another place where I need not feel a stranger. It is my home, one from which I am kept by the urgency of daily life. Only from the depths of tiredness can I find my way back, the tiredness that is not sleep but knows itself awake and travelling through the mysteries of being. I hunger for it; let it carry me away, trusting that it will return me back, back into a season of joyful and eager energy once more, when I will have been filled with the wisdom and peace of emptiness. In this emptiness I shall find the spark of true being, true life, and it will carry me once more into the light of desire. There I shall see once again with new eyes, new delight, as if for the first time. And it will indeed be the very first time, as every day is the first, the only, one that matters. For now let me rest in the sweetness of your breath, held in your embrace, like a song that haunts at the edge of memory.
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Introduction
"Only that day dawns to which we are awake," wrote Thoreau. This blog, in words and pictures, is my attempt to be awake: to be alive to the mystery of life. It is an exercise in gratitude and wonder, and an open invitation to beauty. Archives
May 2019
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