Amigos amigos, negócios à parte.
“A vida e o amor que criamos são a vida e o amor que vivemos”
“The life and love we create is the life and love we live”
“Just as heart is a fountain of unspoken words,
the universe is a womb of wonder weird worlds.”
I '11 example you with thievery : The sun's a thief, and with his great attraction Robs 'the vast sea ; the moon 's an arrant thief, And her pale fire she snatches from the sun ; The sea 's a thief, whose liquid surge resolves The moon into salt tears ; the earth 's a thief, That feeds and breeds by a composture stolen From general excrement : each thing 's a thief. Life's uncertain voyage
The owls that roost in the black yew
Along one limb in solemn state,
And with a red eye look you through,
Are eastern gods; they meditate.
No feather stirs on them, not one,
Until that melancholy hour
When night, supplanting the weak sun,
Resumes her interrupted power.
Their attitude instructs the wise
To shun all action, all surprise.
Suppose there passed a lovely face, —
Who even longs to follow it,
Must feel for ever the disgrace
Of having all but moved a bit.
— Edna St. Vincent Millay, Flowers of Evil (NY: Harper and Brothers, 1936)
A mystic world, now it seems
Hoping to find answers, I followed my heart
A gypsy woman to read my stars
She lay before me some scattered bones
And talked about ruins and magic stones
Then she gazed into the crystal ball
Getting some answers to her call
A vision of a dream, started to form
Shaping into reality as she performed
‘Teller of fortune, holder of hearts’
‘Tell me what lies beneath the cards’
She got some answers as mystery unfolds
Fear not for I see your heart is of gold
Good days are ahead so just behold!
You will find answers that I was told
The sky is your fortune; you’ll find your way
Forget your sorrows and dream each day
Smell the flowers that bloom in the fields
So many broken hearts have healed
So fear no more and open up your heart
To a new beginning all from the start.
I have a rendezvous with Life,
In days I hope will come,
Ere youth has sped, and strength of mind,
Ere voices sweet grow dumb.
I have a rendezvous with Life,
When Spring’s first heralds hum.
Sure some would cry it’s better far
To crown their days with sleep
Than face the road, the wind and rain,
To heed the calling deep.
Though wet nor blow nor space I fear,
Yet fear I deeply, too,
Lest Death should meet and claim me ere
I keep Life’s rendezvous.
Expectations are like fairy tales and myths; they are alluring but ultimately leave us disillusioned and disappointed, which are the fore-bearers of suffering.
“I’m simply saying that there is a way to be sane. I’m saying that you can get rid of all this insanity created by the past in you. Just by being a simple witness of your thought processes.
It is simply sitting silently, witnessing the thoughts, passing before you. Just witnessing, not interfering not even judging, because the moment you judge you have lost the pure witness. The moment you say “this is good, this is bad,” you have already jumped onto the thought process.
It takes a little time to create a gap between the witness and the mind. Once the gap is there, you are in for a great surprise, that you are not the mind, that you are the witness, a watcher.
And this process of watching is the very alchemy of real religion. Because as you become more and more deeply rooted in witnessing, thoughts start disappearing. You are, but the mind is utterly empty.
That’s the moment of enlightenment. That is the moment that you become for the first time an unconditioned, sane, really free human being.”
Below my bed my lips peels
Yo our childs Hullabaloo over
Keeping our first abo culture good
Clean shaven back lands
And we sunstruck by a colourless talk by Americanos
The afternoon spits up the starred night
Below my head lays eyes looking
At the noses arse-end of this world
A first fella said I want to be oblivious
‘what for?’ cos midday squinting toward
a trespassive on Murri land
Rumour field the house of every Peoples Spirits of;
‘how come a sickle moon kisses earth and found out what heart’
Toned cry sitting love makes
So fuck love for yesterdays dump
So lullaby away dreams that don’t come true
Those Murri skills remain are
Future clumsy flinch with business
Those Murri hobnailed on naming
Each other cabs calm in drawer for a bit of money
The rituals gentle Murri sorcery
Gives ancient weathered faces
Stout to taut the looter?
Awake now readers and seed basic
Eternal life humble shipped out
Of man’s sorrow affairs
Murri old commanded us us
Murri young commanded us us
The morning wings me to supreme sacrifice
According to the perished
The Sydney Morning Herald (NSW : 1842 – 1954), Saturday 1 May 1926
In truth a family is what you make it. It is made strong, not by number of heads counted at the dinner table, but by the rituals you help family members create, by the memories you share, by the commitment of time, caring, and love you show to one another, and by the hopes for the future you have as individuals and as a unit.
MARGE KENNEDY, The Single Parent Family
foto of girls in the black bear cafe in bellingen nsw australia december 2013
“The people are immensely likeable— cheerful, extrovert, quick-witted, and unfailingly obliging. Their cities are safe and clean and nearly always built on water. They have a society that is prosperous, well ordered, and instinctively egalitarian. The food is excellent. The beer is cold. The sun nearly always shines. There is coffee on every corner. Life doesn’t get much better than this.”
― Bill Bryson, In a Sunburned Country
foto – sandy from new york who saves brumbies in brierfield australia
“I? I am the wind,’ said Thowra. ‘I come, I pass, and I am gone.’ The strange feathers moved up and down, the strange voice said tartly: ‘And are your sons the same?’ ‘My son is the lightning that strikes through the black night. My grandson is light that pierces the dark sky at dawning.’ ‘Ah,’ said the first emu, ‘and we know your daughter is the snow that falls softly from above and clothes the world in white. You want but the rainbow — that is and was and never will be, and is yet the promise of life — and the glittering ice which is there and is gone: then you and your family will possess all magic.”
― Elyne Mitchell, Silver Brumby Kingdom