- April 14 2013 | - Read More →
The good times and the bad times both will pass. It will pass. It will get easier. But the fact that it will get easier does not mean that it doesn’t hurt now. And when people try to minimize your pain they are doing you a disservice. And when you try to minimize your own pain you’re doing yourself a disservice. Don’t do that. The truth is that it hurts because it’s real. It hurts because it mattered. And that’s an important thing to acknowledge to yourself. But that doesn’t mean that it won’t end, that it won’t get better. Because it will.
—by Hannah Brencher, Original Story, Feb 06, 2013
Here’s to the ones who were never normal. Never conforming. Never able to sink into the soles of a follower.
Here’s to the ones who were told to stop. To give up. To quit trying. To shove themselves into a little box because the world never needed their arms stretched out wide.
Here’s to the ones who refused to listen. To the negatives. To the naysayers. To pessimists and the procrastinators.
Here’s to the ones who believe in Away. And Going. And Newness within Newness. And a world made to wash us and move us and sculpt us and change us. And the courage it takes to believe in all those things.
Here’s to the ones who have uncovered the recovery from darkness. Who have cried on bathroom floors. Who have found pockets of strength in cracks in the sidewalk. Who have declared new days and brighter days and lovelier days than this.
Here’s the ones who say, “I’ve moved on” and “I’m stronger now” and “You never completed me. No, that never happened.” Who believe in their wholeness even after breaking. Who believe in Better Than Ever even when the Better Half of them has eyes towards the neon EXIT sign.
Here’s to the ones who stopped trying. To please others. To be perfect. To get smaller. To live in the lines. To color with only the classics of Red and Blue and Green within a lifetime that swoons over Fuchsia and Gold.
Here’s the ones who believe in shoes and stories. Yellow rain boots in any weather to Parade through Puddles of Passion. World Shaking Heels. Who believe in slipping into Sizes Too Big and doing a little walk, a little trot, a little stroll before saying, “I know your story.”
Here’s to the ones who live. Life like a love letter. Like a well-worn pair of leather ballet flats. Like a ferris wheel—spinning, spinning—and all the parts of it touched by great love stories and boys who used to help girls on by the hand.
Here’s to the ones who laugh within the thunder. Cry within the mud. Dance when the bagpipes of sorrow play. Here’s to the ones who hear music, even when the sacred songs of childhood get stuck in the throat, stifled by fear.
Here’s to the ones who wear “joy” like a sweater. Like a wedding dress you wish to wear while eating pancakes and Nutella. Your bare feet on the counter. The train of white hanging down on the tiles. Laughing, always laughing, as they have another short stack of blueberry.
Here’s to the ones who choose to be relentless. With their purpose. With their ambition. With their desires. With their calling.
Here’s to the ones who know their calling and that it’s greater than a cubicle or a paycheck will ever be. A calling to be a light. To be a lantern. To be a match in the darkness. A flashlight in the power outage. A bright star in the sky of a night that lost hope.
Here’s to the ones who pick up others. Who don’t need to believe in karma to understand “humanity” and how her wrinkles live on in the faces of others. The Sick. The Poor. The Lonely. The Down Trodden.
Here’s to the ones who say “Enough” and “No More.” Who believe in things as crazy as a world where children can feel the fullness of a belly before Sleep. And Dreams. And Peace. Where girls can feel the itch of a school uniform and let their arms grow tired from stacks of beautiful books.
Here’s to the ones who believe. In a tomorrow packed with promise. In conversations where souls undress secrets. In late nights and knees that touch under blankets. In mornings that hold solitude.
In air just gasping and groaning to be sucked in and turned. Into gratitude. Into prayers. Into well wishes that float into the ear lobes of others. Into Hellos and Goodbyes that leave us never the same. Into a life that is thrilling and delicate, like the very first time we saw the elephant tamer dance.
by Oriah Mountain Dreamer (Nov 04, 2002)
It doesn’t interest me what you do for a living.
I want to know what you ache for, and if you dare to dream of meeting your heart’s longing.
It doesn’t interest me how old you are. I want to know if you will risk looking like a fool for love, for your dream, for the adventure of being alive.
It doesn’t interest me what planets are squaring your moon. I want to know if you have touched the center of your own sorrow, if you have been opened by life’s betrayals or have become shriveled and closed from fear of further pain. I want to know if you can sit with pain, mine or your own, without moving to hide it, fade it, or fix it.
I want to know if you can be with joy, mine or your own, if you can dance with wildness and let ecstasy fill you to the tips of your fingers and toes without cautioning us to be careful, to be realistic, to remember the limitations of being human.
It doesn’t interest me if the story you are telling is true. I want to know if you can disappoint another to be true to yourself; if you can bear the accusation of betrayal and not betray your own soul; if you can be faithless and therefore trustworthy.
I want to know if you can see beauty, even when it’s not pretty, every day, and if you can source your own life from its presence.
I want to know if you can live with failure, yours and mine, and still stand on the edge of the lake and shout to the silver of the full moon, �Yes!�
It doesn’t interest me to know where you live or how much money you have. I want to know if you can get up, after the night of grief and despair, weary and bruised to the bone, and do what needs to be done to feed the children.
It doesn’t interest me who you know or how you came to be here. I want to know if you will stand in the center of the fire with me and not shrink back.
It doesn’t interest me where or what or with whom you have studied. I want to know what sustains you, from the inside, when all else falls away.
I want to know if you can be alone with yourself and if you truly like the company you keep in the empty moments.
—Oriah Mountain Dreamer (“The Invitation”)
I have no idea who you are.
I know what it is that you do,
and where it is that you go.
But I have no idea of how you
face the perpetual challenge
that each day brings.
Or of what it is that
hurts your heart.
Or gives your very soul
cause to wake.
And in not knowing you,
there is a part of me
that will lie
Of this I am certain.
About: Life & Love, Philosophy & Politics. Also see http://nishmaj-photography.tumblr.com/ Follow @NishmaJethwa