Mt. Shasta, CA, 15 April ‘14

And once the storm is over, you won’t remember how you made it through, how you managed to survive. You won’t even be sure whether the storm is really over. But one thing is certain. When you come out of the storm, you won’t be the same person who walked in. That’s what this storm’s all about.
Haruki Murakami, Kafka on the Shore (via larmoyante)
(Reblogged from stolethesky)
We only write about two feelings: one is the first day of summer when you and all of your friends are standing on the edge of a cliff watching the sun set and being overcome with all of your hopes and dreams at once. The other is when you’re walking alone in the rain and realize you will be alone forever.
The Drums (via stolethesky)

(Source: 700seas)

(Reblogged from stolethesky)
For what it’s worth: it’s never too late to be whoever you want to be. I hope you live a life you’re proud of, and if you find you’re not, I hope you have the strength to start over again.
F. Scott Fitzgerald  (via abeautifullifetime)

(Source: nuclearharvest)

(Reblogged from stolethesky)
Going back to a simpler life based on living by sufficiency rather than excess is not a step backward. Rather, returning to a simpler way allows us to regain our dignity, puts us in touch with the land, and makes us value human contact again.

Yvon Chouinard

:::reblogging for the third time as a reminder to myself to slow it down:::

(via peonyandbee)

(Source: soul-surfer)

(Reblogged from leshaw110)

Game of Thrones

I say it was in the pie, not the wine. What say ye?

…”You know that very well, only you don’t have to remember the past in the same way you don’t have to think about how you work your thyroid gland, or whatever else it is in your organism. You don’t have to know how to shine the sun. You just do it, like you breath. Doesn’t it really astonish you that you are this fantastically complex thing, and that you’re doing all this and you never had any education in how to do it? Never learned, but you’re this miracle? The point of it is, from a strictly physical, scientific standpoint, this organism is a continuous energy with everything else that’s going on. And if I am my foot, I am the sun. Only we’ve got this little partial view. We’ve got the idea that ‘No, I’m something IN this body.’ The ego. That’s a joke. The ego is nothing other than the focus of conscious attention. It’s like the radar on a ship. The radar on a ship is a troubleshooter. Is there anything in the way? And conscious attention is a designed function of the brain to scan the environment, like a radar does, and note for any troublemaking changes. But if you identify yourself with your troubleshooter, then naturally you define yourself as being in a perpetual state of anxiety. And the moment we cease to identify with the ego and become aware that we are the whole organism, we realize first thing how harmonious it all is.”
~Alan Watts

Breaking the Rules

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(I posted this not quite a year ago. A friend recently read it and liked it, suggesting I repost. So, here it is…)

What are the rules as to what to share on the internet, on Tumblr? Some share bare slivers of an alter ego, never their true self, maybe safely so. I don’t know. See, I have trouble sharing just a little, or creating an alter ego. I’m just me, and most of the time I’m questioning who exactly that may be. But I can’t get online and simply be someone I’m not. It’s just not in me. Maybe I’ll live to regret it, but this is me. If it comes back to kick me in the ass, I guess I’ll deal with that then. I’ve made many close friends online, some I’ve met, many I’ve talked with on the phone. I was thinking of sharing something, but wondered is that going too far, is that breaking the rules? I guess we’ll see.


I want to hold hands with someone, a woman, preferably, if not, then rrrick will do. I want to care about a woman the way I did Regina Greenwood in the first grade. She would have little to do with me, but I adored her. I want a woman to make me feel the way Susan Shealy did when I was 12 and met her in church. She smiled and laughed; she helped me with my costume for the Christmas play (I was a wiseman). I shared my first kiss with her. And, not bragging or exaggerating, but it was a really nice kiss, first or 20th.

I was so nervous I was sure she could hear my heart beating. We were walking around with her sister and her sister’s boyfriend. I kept putting it off, thinking of nothing else, but SO nervous. Her sister told me at one point, when she and I were alone, that Susan thought I didn’t want to kiss her; she thought I didn’t like her anymore. Damn! A little later, Susan and I were walking alone. We stopped, sitting back against a grassy bank on the side of the road. I had been thinking about nothing else all day, but could never work up the nerve. God, I was scared. We sat in silence; she wouldn’t even look at me. I realized I was making her sad. I couldn’t stand the thought of hurting her. So, with the nerve it took Icarus to fly, I took my right hand, reached over to her face, turned it to face me, leaned in, eyes closed, and kissed her. It was a nice long kiss, too, a few seconds, at least. And the spell was broken. She smiled that beautiful smile, and we spent the rest of the day laughing and playing, and, yes, kissing. 

I want someone to take control of my heart the way Peaches (only one name needed) did when I was 16. She had me lock, stock, and dumb-barrel. I couldn’t stop myself, my feelings, even knowing she was with an older best friend. I loved her, or what I thought was love. It hurt like love. There was Tina, the married woman, who convinced me she was going to leave her husband for me. She was only 4’10 1/2” tall, but pure dynamite in every inch. I’ve never known a sexier woman. She did leave her husband, but for another man, leaving me, too.


There was Tamara; we met in college. She was and remains the most truly beautiful woman I’ve ever known. We’re talking beauty queen, movie star gorgeous. And she was impressed with my writing. She wrote, too, poems, but she talked to me like she was a regular mortal, just like me. She always told me how good my latest story was. People would see us together, hanging out so often, and ask how my girlfriend was doing, how’s things going? I always said, we’re just friends. She’s married. And, besides, have you looked at her? Me and her, I don’t think so. So many times people would tell me, “There seems to be more there than friendship to me.” All I could say was, “I don’t know; we’re just friends.” A friend I was falling hard for. I felt a true soul connection with her, like there was something deeper than either of us knew. But, she was adamant we were just friends, no matter the hugs and back rubs she would give, and receive. She’s the one who will always be a part of who I am. Whether she wanted to follow it further or not, we did connect on a deeper level than friendship, but never lovers. I was her brother and protector, the one she called when she needed someone she knew she could count on. The one she called when the loneliness got to be too much, the shadows on the walls too big. She got divorced and remarried. She’s now divorced, again, but happy, I hope. She lives on the East coast, teaching. We share an occasional email or message on FB. We will forever be a part of each other.


I tried online matching, eHarmony. It worked out well. I met a great woman from Washington state. I went up for a long weekend. Great friends, but the true spark just wasn’t there. We’re friends on FB.


I once had a therapist, after hearing various stories, say, “Oh, you’re a sentimentalist.” She said it with a  half-laugh. It didn’t seem she meant it as a compliment. I can’t deny it. I’m a sentimental romantic, a romantic sentimentalist, whatever you want to call it. I’m a 100% INFP; I live by ideals. I may die by them, too, but this is who I am.


I had a friend in the Peace Corps, Heather, who was so full of passion for life, she melted me. She loved passion, and I, well, you know. We could talk about anything for hours. Every glance from her inspired a poem; her hips and thighs could inspire a universe. No one has inspired more letters, stories, poems, or essays from me. She told me she loves my mind, said she loves my soul. I guess I need to work on the body. But more than anything, I have to work on feeling deserving of having someone love me. Right now, I don’t, not in a relationship. I know my family loves me and respects me, but for a relationship, it’s hard when you’re overweight, unemployed and not even sure what you want to do. How do you start a relationship with that as a starting foundation?


But I do want someone to hold hands with, someone to take long walks with, to have long conversations in the kitchen between sips of wine and throwing something together. I want to talk about everything and nothing and be entertained either way. I don’t know if I’ve ever been in love (I think I have), but I can’t swear I know what love is, romantic love. I’ll just live my life, and maybe one day I’ll run into someone who makes me think, “Okay, maybe this is worth it.” That’s about all I know of it all, whether it makes sense or not. As John Mellencamp said,

"Every one needs a hand to hold on to
Every one needs a hand to hold on to
Don’t need to be no strong hand
Don’t need to be no rich hand
Every one just needs a hand to hold on to

"And then those hours when you’re alone
And there’s no body there except yourself
I know it, you wanna pick up the phone
And say, “Talk to me, talk to me
Somebody please talk to me”
yeah…ah…ah…ahhh”

woodennest:

simplytonka:

To have a big ole backyard with lots of open space and trees and no cookie cutter houses surrounding it. A cozy front porch with a swing and a set of rocking chairs. Clothes lines to dry our clothes when it’s warm out. A garden with fresh fruits and veggies. Yes, please.

^^ a genu-wine dream

(Source: mpdrolet)

(Reblogged from simplementbleu)
(Reblogged from wildflowerveins)