“ As long as you have certain desires about how it ought to be you can’t see how it is.
Ram Dass (via quotefullness)
ink & life
Eff this.
“ Life without solitude is a deafening din. Solitude punctuates our life, making it more musical, restores us to ourselves.
Dumitru Tsepeneag (via whimsicalele)
(Source: unjustlyunread, via quotefullness)
“ How courageous it is to say: “I feel empty, I feel deficient, and I won’t attempt to fill it. I want to see the truth. I want to experience the reality of me. I refuse to manipulate. I want to wake up regardless of how painful it is.” Only the hero will take this attitude, for it is a heroic act to see your deficiency, your neediness, your emptiness, and yet not try to manipulate your life to fill it. We are so compulsive, so driven to manipulate, to avoid feeling this basic deficiency of our personal ego. But believe me, my friend, there’s no other way towards fullness. God will not pour His grace if you don’t accept your deficiency and stop manipulating. Manipulation, striving to fill this emptiness, is only the devil doing its efficient work. It is constantly working to hide its weakness.
A.H. Almaas (via ashramof1)
(via quotefullness)
This picture sums up my life at the moment. Pretty happy!
(Source: cardboardlife)
The Instant Comfort Pocket Box, by Kim Wellings in Utrecht, Netherlands.
(Source: sosuperawesome)
Holisticurve: Reflexology: Part 1.
Ever since I was a child I have been massaging feet (and shoulders, backs, necks). From practising such massaging methods since my early childhood I know what parts of the feet connect to which parts of the body. It is all intricately linked.
I have always been called “magic hands” or told I have…
(Source: holisticurve)
: reflexology and my day ~
so i had my first session of reflexology today in a spa close to my home. it’s where a therapist massages your feet and finds pressure points.. each part of your foot relates to a different part of your body. it was quite a weird feeling.. sometimes when she was pressing my feet i could feel it in…
I am writing Bon Iver a love letter. I’m writing to thank him for his many small kindnesses, too many to count or measure. But I try.
Thank you for the tender kisses you apply to my brow when you think I’m asleep.
Thank you for rushing into the house to share the piquant scent of lemon verbena crushed between your finger and thumb.
Thank you for the silent companionship, without any comment at all, when I am thinking of my father on the anniversary of his death.
Thank you for running the bath when I’ve spent the afternoon freezing on the back of a horse in the rain, obstinate in my resolve to complete my exercises.
Thank you for your eternal determination to improve your apple jelly recipe.
Thank you for loving my body, and showing me every day.
Thank you for reading me the funny parts from your books.
Thank you for being so excited to tell me something that you trip over your words and gasp, and behave foolishly, because I love this uninhibited you more than anything.
Thank you for rescuing me from the field when the harrow ran over my leg.
Thank you for allowing me to rescue you from your loneliness. You have enriched my life in ways I could never have expected.
I never knew I could say these things, and I never expected that my heart could contain so much.
When I give Bon Iver the letter, he chuckles. He wraps me in his great strong arms and whispers, ‘Thank you, for giving me a reason.’
