Photo of Rachel’s Sully.
Saturday Morning
December 5, 2020 by 44 Comments
Daybreak. December 5, 2020. 7:30 am. 41° F. Heavy Rain. Cove Island Park, Stamford CT
Truth
July 14, 2020 by 23 Comments
Source: Hartley Lin (formerly known by the pseudonym Ethan Rilly) is a cartoonist based in Montreal, Canada. Young Frances, the first collection from his ongoing comic book Pope Hats, won the 2019 Doug Wright Award for Best Book. He has drawn for The New Yorker, The Hollywood Reporter, Slate, Taddle Creek and HarperCollins. (via thisisn’thappiness)
Lightly Child, Lightly.
July 9, 2020 by 41 Comments
“1 a.m.: Lie here then. Just lie here. What of it? It’s just lying here. Think of good things… Try to calm the banging heart.”
— Samantha Harvey, The Shapeless Unease: A Year of Not Sleeping (Grove Press; May 12, 2020)
Notes:
- Photo: Katia Chausheva (Plovdiv, Bulgaria) with Ariel amoureuse (via Mennyfox55)
- Post Title & Inspiration: Aldous Huxley: “It’s dark because you are trying too hard. Lightly child, lightly. Learn to do everything lightly. Yes, feel lightly even though you’re feeling deeply. Just lightly let things happen and lightly cope with them.”
‘Feel’ This
July 3, 2020 by 28 Comments
(He) said that happiness is what happens when you go to bed on the hottest night of the summer, a night so hot you can’t even wear a tee-shirt and you sleep on top of the sheets instead of under them, although try to sleep is probably more accurate. And then at some point late, late, late at night, say just a bit before dawn, the heat finally breaks and the night turns into cool and when you briefly wake up, you notice that you’re almost chilly, and in your groggy, half-consciousness, you reach over and pull the sheet around you and just that flimsy sheet makes it warm enough and you drift back off into a deep sleep. And it’s that reaching, that gesture, that reflex we have to pull what’s warm – whether it’s something or someone – toward us, that feeling we get when we do that, that feeling of being sad in the world and ready for sleep, that’s happiness.
— Paul Schmidtberger, Design Flaws of the Human Condition
Notes: Quote: from liquidlightandrunningtrees via Last Tambourine. Photo: forward to forget
Saturday Morning
May 16, 2020 by 13 Comments
Silence can also be a friend. A comfort and a source of deeper riches. In The Silence That Follows, the poet Rolf Jacobsen wrote:
The silence that lives in the grass
on the underside of each blade
and in the blue space between the stones.
The silence that rests like a young bird in your palms. It is easy to see oneself in Rolf Jacobsen’s experience. Alone out on the ocean, you can hear the water; in the forest, a babbling brook or else branches swaying in the wind; on the mountain, tiny movements between stones and moss. These are times when silence is reassuring. I look for that within myself.
— Erling Kagge, Silence: In the Age of Noise
Notes: Photo by Chris Jones with Blades of Grass. Prior Erling Kagge posts here.
Saturday Morning
April 25, 2020 by 28 Comments
The silence I have in mind may be found wherever you are, if you pay attention, inside your mind, and is without cost. You don’t have to go to Sri Lanka: you can experience it in your bathtub. — I discover silence when I stay five extra minutes in bed at home.
— Erling Kagge, Silence: In the Age of Noise
Walking Downtown. With Air to be reckoned with.
January 27, 2020 by 53 Comments
Jenny Offill describes her mood…”she’s tired all the time now…she can feel how slow she is walking, as if the air itself is something to be reckoned with.” I read the passage a week ago. And Mind keeps flipping it back.
Sleep app congratulates me this morning on seven consecutive days of hitting sleep targets. Grooving a routine. And it’s working. I’m sleeping.
But, tired all the time.
Lower Manhattan this morning.
40+ F, but don’t get caught out without a coat. Frigid winds blow through the tunnels between the hulking skyscrapers.
Colleagues take the subway to a client meeting: It’s only two stops!
I let them go. I need to walk. Shoulder stiff. Neck aches. Need to be alone.
A lifetime, swift walker. But not lately. Like a glider banking energy, I’m waiting for a tail wind, or even a gust.
Not my photo above, I couldn’t muster up my own shot. I pause to watch the tourists take their shots with the Bull. In all the years, this is the first time you’ve stopped (paused) to admire him. You are a beaut Mr. Bull.
Bullfighter or the Bull? Red cape, the muleta. God Save the Bull.
Three minutes to destination.
I take a take breath and step into the building.
Game time.
Photo: Alexander Nilssen, Bull of Wall Street
Saturday Morning
January 11, 2020 by 29 Comments
One’s very own room, ventilated to please one’s self, furnished just as one wishes, with one’s pet belongings arranged to suit one’s own tastes; an entire bed in which one may pitch and toss, stretch and yawn, without the consciousness that another would-be sleeper is being annoyed – all of these are aids to happiness.
– Virginia Terhune Van de Water, “From Kitchen to Garret,” (Published in 1910)
Notes: Quote via Schonwieder. Photo via Sabon Home
