A bit of me would like to say
I felt a bit of something
but I’m not sure what it was
or what I’ll do
so I must keep it from you
or we’ll be forced into
a remorseful dance
of taking and giving
until one of us
or both of us
are no longer whole
and neither of us knows
what happened
or how a little bit became
a bearing of souls.

I stood by my window and watched a large crowd of people march behind a singing man, one whole told some well known stories and there were people in costume, one wore a wig of long waved locks and dragged a wooden cross larger than he was. They sang and they followed and although I am very familiar with the story and have heard the songs a thousand times, I was moved by their faith.
I once knew what faith was. I felt it when I was a child. I remember kneeling and believing that something was with me, that someone watched over me. I grew older and much too cynical to believe and I started to stand at a distance, always with that feeling of watching something I no longer understood, but always with great respect and part of me always longing for that peaceful space where faith lives. That place where all things have a purpose, even the most unimaginable suffering…

What matters in life is not what happens to you but what you remember and how you remember it.

Gabriel García Márquez (via strandbooks)

I was forced to face that realization
that even if I somehow manage
to put the pieces in the right places
it won’t undo
all the scars I’ve placed
along the way
and the guilt
wears on me
like a relentless
old friend
telling hurtful jokes
at my expense.

I wake up every morning and
I am at war. Some days I am
a soldier, some days I am a
land mine. This morning I
woke up a captive country;
I am being swallowed whole
and can’t find hands to fight
for myself.

anne, waking up helpless (via anneisrestless)

Draw the art you want to see, start the business you want to run, play the music you want to hear, write the books you want to read, build the products you want to use — do the work you want to see done.

Austin Kleon, author of Steal Like an Artist. (In SLC? Come to his talk tomorrow.)