View: All Thoughts Writing

“There is no sense talking about ‘being true to yourself’ until you are sure what voice you are being true to. It takes hard work to differentiate the voices of the unconscious.”
— Marion Woodman

Filed under:
quotes, flowers, scotland

I’m awoken by explosions in my neighborhood
My country across the ocean is falling apart
There’s a fragility in your voice
A thousand ripples when you say “rio”
(like a river)
You taught me that there doesn’t have to be subtext
Or I’ve finally learned to stop looking.
Filed under:
poetry, portraits

wizard’s wander at alderley edge
“It is no measure of health to be well adjusted to a profoundly sick society.”
Jiddu Krishnamurti
Filed under:
cheshire, england, portraits, trees, quotes

to all the broken men
When I close my eyes, the angels come down to my rescue. I see them now. They speak to me in my sleep. In my dreams I metamorphasize into an infinite light that shines down on this planet, drying the blood of broken-hearted men, collecting all of their unshed tears. I dream that my arms are wide enough to hold them as they stumble in the darkness, attempting to assert themselves in the void. I dream that my heart is the ozone that covers this planet and my love is the air that they breathe.
Filed under:
france, paris, poetry

“The concept of the self as a separate, monistic, self-enclosed ‘I’ first came into being during the Reformation and the Renaissance. (...) Easily combined with other words, the prefix self expressed a new way of thinking about the world, where the individual was acquiring great significance. The self always related persons to its own identity: self-regard, self-destruction, self-love. From then on, the individual ‘I,’ separated from the rest of the world, became the chief perspective from which we viewed reality.”
— Olga Tokarczuk

the astral audience
I wonder what image Joanne held onto of me. If only I could peer into her prism, into what remained. What traces were there of the young and uptight American fidgeting around a pot of coffee, speaking French clumsily like a cat with a dead bird in its mouth?

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Filed under:
love, death, france

what is love?
Love is being,
a natural way of being.
Love is looking within.
Love is looking all around.
Love is listening,
truly listening.

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Filed under:
love, ocean, florida, usa, poetry

a whisper in a wind tunnel
“It is because I dove into the abyss that I am beginning to love the abyss I am made of.”
― Clarice Lispector

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plantas sagradas
“Warriorship is a continual journey. To be a warrior is to learn to be genuine in every moment of your life.“ 
— Chögyam Trungpa

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My life as a city-dwelling gringa turned me into a dull knife blade: I wanted it too, that sharpness, the ability to see what others cannot see.

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Filed under:
costa ricatrees © 2023
(there are other sarah rose’s, but this is the new one)