Maybe happiness is this: not feeling like you should be elsewhere, doing something else, being someone else.
(Source: blue-voids)
Tracks
The humble student is the one who gets the most knowledge, just as the lowest places on earth collect the most water.
El Scherzo Matinal- Franz Tamayo
De verla el mar se comba
Como un camello
Y un himno en coda tromba
Da su resuello.
El monto hirsuto
Templa su horror y trémulo
Dora su luto.
Bob Dylan- Wedding Song
Soneto XVII
No te amo como si fueras rosa de sal, topacio
o flecha de claveles que propagan el fuego:
te amo como se aman ciertas cosas oscuras,
secretamente, entre la sombra y el alma.
Te amo como la planta que no florece y lleva
dentro de sí, escondida, la luz de aquellas flores,
y gracias a tu amor vive oscuro en mi cuerpo
el apretado aroma que ascendió de la tierra.
Te amo sin saber cómo, ni cuándo, ni de dónde,
te amo directamente sin problemas ni orgullo:
así te amo porque no sé amar de otra manera,
sino así de este modo en que no soy ni eres,
tan cerca que tu mano sobre mi pecho es mía,
tan cerca que se cierran tus ojos con mi sueño.
Pablo Neruda
Laguna Colorada, Bolivia
(Source: shinimasu)
Yes ohhhhh
Yes, what then is the truth about myself, about anyone? The truth can be defined only in respect of point-like minute moments of action, steps in the process of feeling, the most minute steps, about one drop after another out of the stream. But then it would no longer be possible to deduce that a person had such massive characteristics as “thrifty”, “good-natured”, “cowardly”, “thoughtless”. All the thousand thousandths of a second of liking, desire, aversion, calm, agitation that one passes through— what can be deduced from them? One thing only: that a man has done much and suffered much…
“For up to now he has simply lived from one day to another, has tried something else each day and has been without guile. He has seen so many possibilities of himself, catcher and caught in one person, over the threshold of time, over the threshold of place, to see who he was and who he has become… pp13”
“He can no longer live among people. They paralyze him, they have explained him according to their own judgement. As soon as a man stays some time in one place, he is transmutted into too many shapes, hearsay shapes, and has less and less right to appeal to his own self. Therefore he wishes, henceforth and forever, to appear in his true shape, He cannot start this here, where he has been living for a long time; but he will do it there, where he will be free… pp16”
“When he continued his journey he listened to the stories of a fellow traveller, who told him what percentage of all insane believed themselves to be Napoleon, the last Kaiser, Lindbergh, Hitler or Gandhi. This aroused his interest and asked wheter one wouls without harm believe oneself to be oneself and whether that was now also a form of insanity… pp43”
“For a long time he had also not known what to believe and whether it was not altogether disgraceful to believe anything. Now he was beginning to believe himself when he did or said something. He was gaining confidence in himself. He also trusted the things he did not have to prove to himself, the pores of his skin, the salty taste of the sea, the fruit-n and everything that was corporeal… pp54”
“How could the white hair, that pale proof of pain and the beginning of age, have frightened me so? Let it stay there, and if after a few days it falls out and another does not appear so quickly I shall retain the foretaste and never again feel fear of the process that is being made physically visible to me… pp55”
“I say unto thee: Rise up and walk! Nono of your bones is broken… pp55”
“And that everyone is afraid of death, into which alone they can escape from the monstrous affront that is life” pp19
“I impenetrable, a mixture of all materials, matted, insoluble and yet capable of being extinguished on the blow of the back of the head. Silenced I of silence…” pp21
