The Joy of The Mundane
The only greater loss than the loss of a friend is the loss of who you thought they were within.
If you can forgive me I can forgive me because the gentleness in your eyes is the only way I’m going to be able to get some sleep, maybe dance again, maybe not feel so broken, knowing that I will be able to make it in this skin. Though my decisions and judgments have lead me astray I’m confident that the years ahead of us will make up for all that I lack. I will look for ways to surprise you with kindness and I won’t stop learning how to make this our home once again. Not just in how this bed is made, but in how I touch your face.
If you have no intention of loving or being loved, the whole journey is pointless.
— Kate DiCamillo (via eroticasa)
Your riotous living, curiosity, gusto, amorality, sentimentality are enough to fill a hundred books. You have never known stagnation. You make me believe that introspection does not need to be a still life. It can be an active alchemy. You want to leave a scar on the world. And you - why you put things so clearly and beautifully to me - so crystal clear - it looks simple and true. You are so terribly clever, so nimble. I distrust your cleverness. You make wonderful patterns; everything is in its place, it looks convincingly clear: too clear. And meanwhile, where are you? Not on the clear surface of your ideas, but you have already sunk deeper, into darker regions - so that one only thinks one has been given all your thought, one only imagines you have emptied yourself in that clarity. But there are layers and layers; you are bottomless, unfathomable. Your clearness is deceptive. You’re the thinker who arouses the most confusion and exaltation in me, most doubts, most mystery, most disturbances. You are whole, powerful, every word uttered by you hits the mark. I love our talks; they have a firm, exhilarating interplay, resilience.
— Anaïs Nin, The Diary of Anaïs Nin, Vol.2: 1934-1939 (via violentwavesofemotion)
I love Addictive Thinking by Abraham J. Twerski! I love a lot of things lately. This is from someone else’s blog.
Most emotional problems that are not of physical origin are related, in one way or another, to low self-esteem. Low self-esteem refers to the negative feelings people have about themselves that are not justified by fact. In other words, while some people have a distorted self-perception that includes grandiose delusions about themselves, people with low self-esteem have delusions of inferiority, incompetence, and worthlessness. Strangely enough, these feelings of inadequacy are often particularly intense in people who are the most gifted.
If our perceptions of ourselves are incorrect, we will probably be prone to maladjustment. We can only adjust to reality if we have an accurate perception of it. We create a major component of our own reality, and if we have an unrealistic view of ourselves, we have distorted reality.
I have not yet come across any chemically dependent people who did not have feelings of inferiority that antedated their chemical use. Sometimes they feel inadequate or unworthy in every facet of their lives, and sometimes they may feel very competent in their particular area of expertise, but inadequate and unworthy as a human being, a spouse, a partner, or a parent.
Some people react to feelings of low self-esteem by escaping from life’s challenges and distresses into chemicals, and some may find a redeeming feelings of worth and adequacy by being the sober and controlling or suffering significant other of a chemically dependent person.
(Source: freeyourselflove, via eroticasa)
I need to staple this to my limbs.
“When you live in complete acceptance of what is, that is the end of all drama in your life.”
I love this.
“The world should fear the humble, because [he] who serves the master of truth must disobey all other authorities.”
Oh, darling, let your body in, let it tie you in, in comfort.
— Anne Sexton, from The Complete Poems (via violentwavesofemotion)
How do you love another through their brokenness? I’ve noticed that my heart gets so beat up and bruised simply by the slightest unkind glance from another human being. If someone throws a rock either accidentally or on purpose, that’s it. I feel my sense of value melt away. I will tell my true self, “go back inside,” and I think then I will be safe. But the quiet corridors of my heart are only beautiful when I don’t spend the depth of every single night there. Otherwise my heart acts as a prison, and I will bang on the bars as if I wasn’t the one who locked myself in.