Untidy Exuberance

Young Poets

Write as you will
In whatever style you like
Too much blood has run under the bridge
To go on believing
That only one road is right.

In poetry everything is permitted.

With only this condition of course,
You have to improve the blank page.

—Nicanor Parra, from Poems and Antipoems (New Directions, 1966)

Translation by Miller Williams

Thank you,apoetreflects

(via guerrillamamamedicine)

(Source: thesexkitten, via c-i-s-c-o-deactivated20120526)

You are the luminous mystery in which the entire universe with its forms and phenomena arises and subsides. When this realization dawns there is a complete transformation of your personal self into your universal self … the complete loss of all fear, including death. You have become a being who radiates love the same way the sun radiates light. You have finally arrived at the place from which your journey began.

Deepak Chopra (via dirtcrumbgoddess)

(Source: incubustellar, via freyjageist)

I wish I could show you when you are lonely or in darkness the astonishing light of your own being.

Hafiz (via thelittlesea)

(Source: colourmegreenwich, via teaintheafternoon)

For me, trees have always been the most penetrating preachers. I revere them when they live in tribes and families, in forests and groves. And even more I revere them when they stand alone. They are like lonely persons. Not like hermits who have stolen away out of some weakness, but like great, solitary men, like Beethoven and Nietzsche. In their highest boughs the world rustles, their roots rest in infinity; but they do not lose themselves there, they struggle with all the force of their lives for one thing only: to fulfil themselves according to their own laws, to build up their own form, to represent themselves. Nothing is holier, nothing is more exemplary than a beautiful, strong tree. When a tree is cut down and reveals its naked death-wound to the sun, one can read its whole history in the luminous, inscribed disk of its trunk: in the rings of its years, its scars, all the struggle, all the suffering, all the sickness, all the happiness and prosperity stand truly written, the narrow years and the luxurious years, the attacks withstood, the storms endured. And every young farmboy knows that the hardest and noblest wood has the narrowest rings, that high on the mountains and in continuing danger the most indestructible, the strongest, the ideal trees grow.

Hermann Hesse (via studiesinscarlet)

(Source: alfsaga, via guerrillamamamedicine)

To suspend flowers in the cubes, work in layers: Fill an ice tray (one that makes large cubes so the ice will last longer) a quarter of the way with water, add flowers facing down, and freeze. Add more water to fill halfway, and freeze. Fill to the top, and freeze again.
For ice that’s especially clear, use distilled water that has been boiled and then cooled. This limits impurities and air bubbles, which make ice cloudy.
Use only edible flowers, such as orchids, nasturtiums, pansies, and snapdragons, that have been grown to be eaten (to ensure they haven’t been treated with chemicals). (via)

_{To suspend flowers in the cubes, work in layers: Fill an ice tray (one that makes large cubes so the ice will last longer) a quarter of the way with water, add flowers facing down, and freeze. Add more water to fill halfway, and freeze. Fill to the top, and freeze again.}

_{For ice that’s especially clear, use distilled water that has been boiled and then cooled. This limits impurities and air bubbles, which make ice cloudy.}

_{Use only edible flowers, such as orchids, nasturtiums, pansies, and snapdragons, that have been grown to be eaten (to ensure they haven’t been treated with chemicals). (via)}

(Source: simko, via guerrillamamamedicine)

Why am I so anxious? And then it hits me. I’m not anxious, I’m lonely. And I’m lonely in some horribly deep way and for a flash of an instant, I can see just how lonely, and how deep this feeling runs. And it scares the shit out of me to be so lonely because it seems catastrophic; seeing the car just as it hits you.

Augusten Burroughs, Dry (via creatingaquietmind)

(Source: foolreality, via creatingaquietmind)

We are stardust, we are golden and we’ve got to get ourselves back to the garden.

Joni Mitchell (via dirtcrumbgoddess)

(Source: freyjageist)

(Source: dyingofcute, via cavesoflilith)

Peace and happiness are available if we can only quiet our distracted thinking long enough to come back to the present moment and notice the blue sky, the child’s smile, the beautiful sunrise.

Thich Nhat Hanh, Peace Is Every Step

(via app1ejuice)

(Source: creatingaquietmind, via teaintheafternoon)