I am sat by the dayflower. One that looks like a butterfly, has two pastel blue wings, trunk of yellow blooms, with limbs of growth.
It is a weed they say. I haven’t understood the science of weed. I do know that it is the only flower in this bush of vines, most of them infected by insects and worms of untended soil. But in their unkempt form, in their wild, in their untamed clusters, there is so much beauty, so flawless are their stems and leaves. Their bodies, their shapes, their patterns, the color, the life in their silence.
Hope this finds you and your families safe, happy and healthy. We have recently launched live sessions to read our work from Soul & Sea and further explore the topics of spirituality that we have covered since the launch of the publication.
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Take care and warm regards,
Such a surreal time to be living in.
I know we say that this is not the first time humanity has faced times like this, and yet, we are in an unique realm where we are for the first time connected in such strange ways.
No other generation was meeting a person across the world , a stranger , not in person, but in a set up of technology, and arranging their most intimate thoughts and feelings in front of the stranger for them to gauge, explore and respond to as it connects and relates to them.
What is even the definition…
For the ones we have lost to this cruel disease and merciless time, in their honor let us remember preciousness of human life and what are we fighting for here. Let us keep our biases and non serving ideologies aside and get together for a new reformed world for our future generations and our only home.
All my romanticization of a world driven by artificial intelligence and potential of technology's exponential explosion and achievement is replaced now by the basic reminder and appreciation for human biology and mind. These human bodies decaying and dying, but more than just that, they…
We are losing so much, so fast, to the dust. We no longer know what will we remember from what is slipping by, how it all just flashed by right in front of our sleepless eyes frantically looking for a bed, for plasma, for oxygen. Our attempts to save bodies of our beloveds swept away now in this river without sound.
Will we remember in numbers, in images, in letters or in eyes withered? What will be these memories? These echoes: there is a 50 50 chance. …