I want
to think again of dangerous and noble things.
I want to be light and frolicsome.
I want to be
improbable beautiful and afraid of nothing,
as though I had wings.
Starlings in Winter, Mary Oliver
Category: vanilla
Edible, or Beautiful
If it is a human thing to do to put something you want, because it’s useful, edible, or beautiful, into a bag, or a basket, or a bit of rolled bark or leaf, or a net woven of your own hair, or what have you, and then take it home with you,
home being another, larger kind of pouch or bag, a container for people, and then later on you take it out and eat it or share it or store it up for winter in a solider container
or put it in the medicine bundle or the shrine or the museum, the holy place, the area that contains what is sacred, and then the next day you probably do much the same again—if to do that is human, if that’s what it takes, then
I am a human being after all. Fully, freely, gladly, for the first time.
—Ursula K. Le Guin, The Carrier Bag Theory of Fiction
Entanglement
“A mycelial network is a map of a fungus’s recent history and is a helpful reminder that all life-forms are in fact processes not things.
The “you” of five years ago was made from different stuff than the “you” of today.
Nature is an event that never stops.
As William Bateson, who coined the word genetics, observed,
‘We commonly think of animals and plants as matter, but they are really systems through which matter is continually passing.’”
—Merlin Sheldrake
Azulejos
Humans are divided into different clans and tribes, and belong to countries and towns. But I find myself a stranger to all communities and belong to no settlement.
The universe is my country and the human family is my tribe.
—Khalil Gibran
London Fog
“Memory commits you to the nuance; the fog.
If you act on memory you commit yourself on the basis of echoes: unpredictable, faint, fading even as they were generated.
No basis on which to inch out across your life, and yet all you have.”
—M. John Harrison
To Myself
“… Sometimes I have kept my feelings to myself, because I could find no language to describe them in …”
Jane Austen
The Three Sisters
Sga:d hëdwa:yë:’ ögwa’nigöë’
We gather our minds together to send greetings and thanks to the world around us. Now our minds are one.
dëyetinönyö:’
We give our thanks to
Jöhehgöh
Our Life Sustainers we harvest from the garden.
Da:h ne’hoh dih nëyögwa’nigo’dë:ök
And so let it be that way in our minds.
—Portion of the Ganö:nyög (Thanksgiving Address/Greetings to the Natural World/Words that Come Before All Else) in Onöndowa’ga:’ Gawë:nö’
Boo
Boo, I think I no longer believe in monsters as faces in the floor or feral infants or vampires or whatever.
—David Foster Wallace, Infinite Jest
Not A Sprint
Like wine through clay,
joy in his blood bursting his heart—the bliss!
Robert Browning, Pheidippides
It is my 26th birthday, today.
More pressing is that my exam, culmination of the last 3 months of my life, is next Friday.
I am therefore resolutely trying to ignore the fact that my birthday has arrived until then.
It has been a marathon, sans doute.
