saturn rising

"Anger and tenderness: my selves.
And now I can believe they breathe in me
as angels, not polarities."
— 6 hours ago with 226 notes
"Love consists in this,
that two solitudes protect,
and touch, and greet each other."
Rainer Maria Rilke, “Letters to a Young Poet”  (via petrichour)

(Source: scottiehughes, via fuckyeahexistentialism)

— 2 days ago with 965 notes
"Emerging from an Abyss, and re-entering it—that is Life, is it not, Dear?"

Emily Dickinson, in a letter to Susan Gilbert Dickinson (1885)

(via journalofanobody)

(Source: mitochondria, via be-i-ng)

— 2 days ago with 247 notes
"Vulnerability is our most accurate measurement of courage."
Brene Brown (via homeotherm)

(Source: quotlandia, via homeotherm)

— 4 days ago with 95 notes


What happened to the cedar keepsake box my mother bought
me the only time I ever went to the Jersey shore when I was
growing up? After she told me that I couldn’t have it, too
expensive, my mother bought it for me anyway.

Here, she said, turned away, my mother who loved all of us
with a devotion so complete we could have been gods or
saints to her. Though she never said it, each act of love a
demonstration. I loved that box, loved the aroma of cedar,

rising out of it when I opened it. I loved the feel of the
burnished wood under my fingers, the box that would keep my
tender secrets for years. So much in our lives is like that, we
love and love and love an object and then one day

it disappears, and we don’t notice as though there were a
canyon in the middle of the world where all those lost loves
go. It is like that with people too. So now, when I hear your
voice on the phone, that trembling, rasping it has become

or when you tell me you fell four times today and describe
each place where you fell and why or when you fumble for
words to explain some simple fact, I know you, too, are going
to vanish from my life, the feel of your skin under my

hand, the way your shaking hands reach for me, the same way
I still remember the sweet smell of cedar lifting into the air,
the smooth feel of that wooden box under my hand.

Maria Mazziotti Gillan (via fluttering-slips)

— 4 days ago with 18 notes

"Proud Queen of the Earth Gods,
Supreme Among the Heaven Gods,
Loud Thundering Storm,
you pour your rain over all the lands and all the people.
You make the heavens tremble and the earth quake.
Great Priestess, who can soothe your troubled heart?
You flash like lightening over the highlands;
you throw your firebrands across the earth.
Your deafening command, whistling like the South Wind,
splits apart great mountains.
You trample the disobedient like a wild bull; heaven and earth tremble.
Holy Priestess, who can soothe your troubled heart?
Your frightful cry descending from the heavens devours its victims.
Your quivering hand causes the midday heat to hover over the sea.
Your night time stalking of the heavens chills the land with its dark breeze.
Holy Inanna, the riverbanks overflow with the flood-waves of your heart.”

—from Wolkstein and Kramer’s “Inanna Queen of Heaven”

— 4 days ago with 2 notes