A Day in the Life

Now Playing: Passacaglia - Handel/ Halvorsen

This piano piece transcends the beauty and sadness that surrounds my heart. It astounds me that even in the midst of grief, beauty can propel a heart to melt with the melody coming from some black and white keys. Its as if there is still room for silence while the music continues to play. 

Life is precious. Love all you can!

Sincerely,

Yellow Balloon

Beloved

I was feeling down today, that sense of feeling of being unlovable and unseen. This helped me remember the love letter I don’t have to dream of, the love letter that is already there; for you and me both.

Dirty diapers and all

 I’ve been thinking about babies recently. Why are they so lovable? They cry, they can’t talk, they are demanding and their diapers can really really be stinky. Though the thought of asking a loving parent if they love this child of theirs, and with no hesitation, they respond with “absolutely!”

Are these all graces? Are these part of the mystery of love? Is it just a mathematical ratio, emphasizing that their preciousness outweighs their limitations? Is this the same explanation for general human love?

What brings for the conviction to love a soul completely like a loving parent does a child?

“Love of is of its nature reciprocal: he who knows how to receive knows also how to give.

We love the person complete with all his or her virtues and faults, and up to a point independently of those virtues and in spite of those faults. The strength of such a love emerges most clearly when the beloved person stumbles, when his or her weaknesses or even sins come into the open. One who truly loves does not then withdraw his love, but loves all the more, loves in full consciousness of the other's shortcomings and faults, and without in the least approving them.”

-St. John Paul II

Excerpt from a letter

"Dear friend,
I don't know how you are doing, I just know that you've been melancholic with your posts. Not a bad thing, I like depth, and sadness is profound. Emotions are like writing utensils. Some leave a longer lasting impression, but I guess that also depends on what platform it is placed on. Perhaps our skins would be the analogy of the platforms. Even a permanent marker could be washed off a mirror, and sometimes it is not the led of the pencil but the sharpness of its point that leaves an indent on paper no marker ever could. Perhaps that is also why different words or phrases stand out to people differently. Our skins change and what resonates with us is dependent on the surface we have at hand."

6 years

Is it bad that I almost forgot?

Is it an irony that today I go vote with you in mind?

What good triumph through in 2017?

One last hug in grounds that will not permit.

I miss your presence here.

Where I live is not a home,

Without you near.

I wish you were welcomed here.

Pour une seconde

Pour une seconded, they don’t look like weeds.