August 26, 2010
'Why do they treat us like children?' they said.
And I said 'why do you treat them like adults?'
Their eyes opened wide and they began to laugh and talk all at once;
and suddenly, everything looked possible again." -Story People
We may think our tribute is paid in secret in the dark recesses of our hearts, but it will out.
That which dominates our imaginations and our thoughts
will determine our lives, and our character.
Therefore, it behooves us to be careful what we worship,
for what we are worshiping we are becoming.
-Ralph Waldo Emerson
August 22, 2010
August 17, 2010
August 15, 2010
August 14, 2010
Tell them dear, that if eyes were made for seeing,
Then beauty is its own excuse for being.
-Ralph Waldo Emerson
Old hippies don't die, they just lie low until the laughter stops and their time comes round again.
, originally uploaded by mynameisrowan.
...we condemned them, our children, for seeking a different future.
We hated them for their flowers,
for their love, and for their unmistakeable rejection
of every hideous, mistaken compromise
that we had made throughout our hollow, money-bitten, frightened, adult lives.
August 8, 2010
One knows it sometimes when one gets up at the tender solemn dawn-time and goes out and stands out and throws one's head far back and looks up and up and and watches the pale sky slowly changing and flushing and marvelous unknown things happening until the East almost makes one cry out and one's heart stands still at the strange unchanging majesty of the rising of the sun-which has been happening every morning for thousands and thousands and thousands of years.
One knows it then for a moment or so.
And one knows it sometimes when one stands by oneself in a wood at sunset and the mysterious deep gold stillness slanting through and under the branches seems to be saying slowly again and again something one cannot quite hear, however much one tries. Then sometimes the immense quiet of the dark blue at night with the millions of stars waiting and watching makes one sure; and sometimes a sound of far-off music makes it true; and sometimes a look in someone's eyes.
We are not made for the mountains, for sunrises, or for the other beautiful attractions in life - those are simply intended to be moments of inspiration.
We are made for the valley and the ordinary things of life and that is where we have to prove our stamina and strength.
August 7, 2010
August 5, 2010
A few times in my life,
I've had moments of absolute clarity.
When for a few brief seconds
the silence drowns out the noise
and I can feel rather than think.
And things seem so sharp
and the world seems so fresh.
I can never make these moments last.
I cling to them, but like everything, they fade.
I have lived for these moments.
They pull me back to the present,
and I realize that everything is exactly the way it was meant to be.
I want to read every book ever written about love, lust, and lavishness;
I want to feed from the lives of the beautiful
and thrilling and feathers and pearls.
I wish i lived where every word uttered
was a world unto itself
and no one had to apologize for anything
except a blessed, wretched abandon,
trumpets and horns and voices straining to a heaven
like pomogranate juice bleeding on your tongue.
August 3, 2010
To me, the most sensible thing about time is that the clock is a perfect circle.
I keep coming back here;
I read an old journal this morning.
It had been lying there in my closet waiting for a home after a recent unpacking.
Before I retired it to the drawer where I retire things, I gave it one last look.
A page from another life.
Same person, different day, different set of eyes, lighter pressure on the pen.
A page full of certainty and also full of questions.
It's always strange to read the things you've hoped for in the past
because by now those hopes may be spoken for or gone,
transformed or altogether forgotten.
Like time, hope can be so senseless.
It can carry us up mountains or lie us in the quicksand.
But like time, hope is unstoppable, inevitable, and blind.
Sometimes we travel fast, hurdling towards the unknown,
sometimes the unknown comes hurdling towards us
August 1, 2010
the only people for me are the mad ones,
the ones who are mad to live, mad to talk,
mad to be saved, desirous of everything at the same time,
the ones who never yawn or say a commonplace thing,
but burn, burn, burn, like fabulous yellow roman candles
exploding like spiders across the stars
and in the middle you see the blue centerlight pop
and everybody goes "Awww!"
July 31, 2010
July 23, 2010
July 21, 2010
The question, O me! so sad, recurring—
What good amid these, O me, O life?
That you are here—that life exists, and identity;
That the powerful play goes on, and you will contribute a verse.
July 18, 2010
something haunting, yet mesmerizing about his voice...