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Hello, Flower. It is I again, remember me? You’ve been spread so thin these days; when everything and nothing is clamoring for your affections all at once. It is exhausting, I know. You are exhausted, I know. We feel it all the way through our little soul. So I saw you again in my dreams and you were standing on your head with your heart in the ground and your head in the sky and the stars were spinning all around you, those lovely things. And you were a lovely thing, you were. Your words were loud and clear and rang through my head (and only in my head), and they had a life of their own. They sung to me, lingered around me, headless whispers and they said something like, ‘My darling, my darling, upside down is really rightside up if you see it the right way.’ And I knew it. I knew it was right; I felt it in my heart. Things around you may feel broken and bruised and like they are spinning really fast; they are spinning so fast that you may be losing sight of your most loved and most important things. You may feel like they are slipping out of your grasp. Like the earth that is so in love with the moon; he can’t quite let her go, so he admires her from afar, pained and longing in love while they dance together in the starry night. And you may feel pained and longing in love with yourself or with aspects of yourself that you cannot see at the moment, because they are hiding. Because they are really being stretched and formed into something bigger and more beauteous; a bigger and more beauteous starry starry night. You may think that things are vapid when actually they are resplendent. Everything is resplendent.
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Posted by Leanna - Friday, August 15, 2014 - 8:39pm
' If dreaming really were a kind of truce
as people claim, a sheer repose of mind,
why then if you should waken up abruptly,
do you feel that something has been stolen from you?
Why should it be so sad, the early morning? It robs us of an inconceivable gift,
so intimate it is only knowable
in a trance which the nightwatch gilds with dreams,
dreams that might very well be reflections,
fragments from the treasure-house of darkness,
from the timeless sphere that does not have a name,
and that the day distorts in its mirrors.
Who will you be tonight in your dreamfall
into the dark, on the other side of the wall? '
- Jorge Luis Borges
Posted by Leanna - Tuesday, August 12, 2014 - 11:27am
Over walls and earth and trees and swinging sprays and tendrils the fair green veil of tender little leaves had crept, and in the grass under the trees and the grey urns in the alcoves and here and there and everywhere were touches and splashes of gold and purple and white and the trees were showing pink and snow above her head and there were fluttering of wings and faint sweet pipes and humming and scents and scents. And the sun fell warm upon her face like a hand with a lovely touch. She looked so strange and different because a pink glow of color had actually crept all over her- ivory face and neck and hands and all. She cried out, “I shall live forever and ever and ever.”
- The Secret Garden
