the stone and the rushing sea


“Half of me is filled with bursting words and half of me is painfully shy. I crave solitude yet also crave people. I want to pour life and love into everything yet also nurture my self-care and go gently. I want to live within the rush of primal, intuitive decision, yet also wish to sit and contemplate. This is the messiness of life - that we all carry multitudes, so must sit with the shifts. We are complicated creatures, and ultimately, the balance comes from this understanding. Be water. Flowing, flexible and soft. Subtly powerful and open. Wild and serene. Able to accept all changes, yet still led by the pull of steady tides. It is enough.” Victoria Erickson.


 
"Last night as I was sleeping, I dreamt -- marvellous error! -- that I had 
a beehive here inside my heart. And the golden bees were making 
white combs and sweet honey from my old failures.”  
 Antonio Machado


I remember once driving along the edge of the world and watching, barely breathing, as the wind-wracked sea luxuriated against the red rock shore. It looked like a wild, angry, glorious kind of loving. The harbour there was long, narrow, and the waters rushed in as if they could not wait to flow over the earth. And the land, so stoic, took it. Like an endurer, like an old unshakeable lover, took it.

If I could take the furious luxury of life like the shore does, and feel the sweetness of failure as it built something stronger in my heart, then I think that would ensure such peace in any storm.




Susan Chambers has a wonderful old-fashioned blogroll at her lovely webspace.
L'Assommoir and English Idylls are two tumblrs I am enjoying lately.


4 comments:

  1. Such loveliness. Love what you said about building something stronger in our hearts from failures.

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  2. Every word of this post--ah!
    And the photos are more than gorgeous; it is a soul-stirring view (perhaps one you see every day).

    Thank you for saying such nice things about my blog & blogroll.♥

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  3. Coming to your page is like landing on a soft feather cushion. So beautiful. I'd forgotten about that Antonio Machado poem! I love it.

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