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april in northern california, 2024

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𝘛𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘸𝘦𝘦𝘵 𝘨𝘢𝘳𝘥𝘦𝘯𝘦𝘳 🪴

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every good thing has the inherent sadness about it for when it passes and it will have to pass. everything will have to pass. its all onboarding trains and then watching them go by from train stations and i hope the next thing i love kills me

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from the archives of octavia butler

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Armand Doré (detail)

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Georgia O’Keeffe - Starlight Night, Lake George (1922)

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Of Power and Time, Mary Oliver / Liana Finck for the New Yorker

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I’m made of love and I move with love

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the universe exists as many times as there are people who have ever lived in it. it's just. insane to think about. the world that i experience is mine and the world that you experience is yours and they're similar but never the same. all relationships, all homes, all pains and joys, everything that makes a person's existence, is unique to them.

the magnitude of human life is unimaginable.

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When I Am Among the Trees

When I am among the trees,

especially the willows and the honey locust,

equally the beech, the oaks and the pines,

they give off such hints of gladness.

I would almost say that they save me, and daily.

I am so distant from the hope of myself,

in which I have goodness, and discernment,

and never hurry through the world

but walk slowly, and bow often.

Around me the trees stir in their leaves

and call out, “Stay awhile.”

The light flows from their branches.

And they call again, “It’s simple,” they say,

“and you too have come

into the world to do this, to go easy, to be filled

with light, and to shine.

– Mary Oliver, Evidence: Poems

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handmade felt explorations/samples for one of my classes. middle row left and bottom right got dyed brown accidentally so they don't look the way i intended them to but i don't hate the end results.

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“Things don’t have purposes, as if the universe were a machine, where every part has a useful function. What’s the function of a galaxy? I don’t know if our life has a purpose and I don’t see that it matters. What does matter is that we’re a part. Like a thread in a cloth or a grass-blade in a field. It is and we are. What we do is like wind blowing on the grass. […] We’re in the world, not against it. […] The world is, no matter how we think it ought to be. You have to be with it. You have to let it be.”

— Ursula Le Guin, The Lathe of Heaven (via exhaled-spirals)

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On This the 100th Anniversary of the Sinking of the Titanic, We Reconsider the Buoyancy of the Human Heart by Laura Lamb Brown-Lavoie

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