Human life and objects and trees vibrate with mysterious meanings, which can be deciphered like cuneiform writing. There exists a meaning, hidden from day to day, but accessible in moments of greatest attentiveness, in those moments when consciousness loves the world.
Being solitary is being alone well: being alone luxuriously immersed in doings of your own choice, aware of the fullness of your own presence rather than of the absence of others. Because solitude is an achievement.
I do not understand the mystery of grace — only that it meets us where we are and does not leave us where it found us.
There are thoughts which are like prayers.There are moments when whatever the posture of the body, the soul is on its knees.
…and I am out with lanterns, looking for myself.
“What fresh hell is this?”
― Dorothy Parker
Facebook Post forwarded by Jbmcp From American Trails on Facebook
“Climb the mountains and get their good tidings. Nature’s peace will flow into you as sunshine flows into trees. The winds will blow their own freshness into you, and the storms their energy, while cares will drop away from you like the leaves of Autumn.”
~ John Muir
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