Wild & Precious Life

a collection of beautiful words…..

Andy Warhol

I broke something today, and I realized I should break something once a week to remind me how fragile life is.

Liu Xiaobo

Freedom of expression is the foundation of human rights, the source of humanity, and the mother of truth. To strangle freedom of speech is to trample on human rights, stifle humanity, and suppress truth.

Essay by Jeannette Encinias

Begin again. Little moments. Tending to the flowers. Cutting the fruit. Opening the curtains so that the entire sky can greet you. It’s never easy but, no matter. Steam from the tea so quiet. An open book, and door, and arms.

You have time. Time to create a life that you can stand up straight in. Even though life may beat you down. Hard. Even though things, situations, and people you love may be taken away from you so that your arms can memorize the grace of letting them go. Even then, especially then, begin again.

Remind yourself that nothing really dies, rather, it transforms. Everything and everyone you have ever loved lives in the mysterious memory of your cells. Turning. Healing. Renewing itself. Until one day, a photograph of something or someone very dear, long gone, visits your mind and you bow your head with appreciation.

Meanwhile, take your pain to the sea and your trouble to the mountain. Leave it there and walk home clean. When failure knocks and rattles and quakes, let it. Watch it make a fresh canvas of you. Failure, that great teacher, is kinder if you thank her as you are getting up off the floor. She knows something that you don’t know: that she is usually the last face you will see before breaking through. Such a little light in the crack of the door.

But today, if you are wading through the waters of loss or confusion: begin again. Open the avocado. Draw the bath. Call your best friend. Gather the books. Play your favorite album. Write. Create art. Open your arms. Move your legs. Lovely, little blessings. Whispering to life that you won’t give up. Not ever.

Leonard Cohen

Poetry is just the evidence of life. If your life is burning well, poetry is just the ash.

Rumi

Don’t get lost in your pain, know that one day your pain will become your cure.

Rupi Kaur

i do not want to have you
to fill the empty parts of me
i want to be full on my own

i want to fill so complete
i could light a whole city
and then
i want to have you
cause the two of
us combined
could set
it on fire

Martin Luther King Jr.

History will have to record that the greatest tragedy of this period of social transition was not the strident clamor of the bad people, but the appalling silence of the good people.

Talking to my Daughter Late at Night by Eavan Boland

We have a tray, a pot of tea, a scone.
This is the hour
When one thing pours itself into another :
The gable of our house stored in shadow.
A spring planet bending ice
Into an absolute of light.
Your childhood ended years ago. There is
No path back to it. There is
No certainty I can find
The if or maybe that might remedy
An afternoon you walked up the hill
After school. In winter, in tears.
The fire smoulders down into cinders.
Lilac shivers in the March dark.
If love is a civilization,
As I once hoped it was,
And you and I are its living citizens
And if our words
Are less than rules and more than remedies
As we speak, maybe
Someone escapes from a wounded morning
In a small classroom and finds
The world is not stern, after all. Paper birds
Are folded and fly off in the playground.
And when lessons resume in the afternoon
The essay is easy. It is
A Day in the Life of a Penny.
Afterwards, at teatime, the sweets have old names –
Cinder Toffee Bullseye Marry Me Quick –
The children shout out and I listen
To hear your voice with theirs, but no
It’s here now telling me
How late the hour is, the birds almost up
And we smile at this
As we put the tray away,
Douse the fire and wash out the cups.

Dirge Without Music by Edna St. Vincent Millay

I am not resigned to the shutting away of loving hearts in the hard ground.
So it is, and so it will be, for so it has been, time out of mind:
Into the darkness they go, the wise and the lovely. Crowned
With lilies and with laurel they go; but I am not resigned.

Lovers and thinkers, into the earth with you.
Be one with the dull, the indiscriminate dust.
A fragment of what you felt, of what you knew,
A formula, a phrase remains,—but the best is lost.

The answers quick and keen, the honest look, the laughter, the love,—
They are gone. They are gone to feed the roses. Elegant and curled
Is the blossom. Fragrant is the blossom. I know. But I do not approve.
More precious was the light in your eyes than all the roses in the world.

Down, down, down into the darkness of the grave
Gently they go, the beautiful, the tender, the kind;
Quietly they go, the intelligent, the witty, the brave.
I know. But I do not approve. And I am not resigned.

Rumi

Set your life on fire, seek those who fan your flames.