Detachment

To rise beyond the vortex is to recognize neutrality within all experience. Humans are the Masters of labeling, story-telling, claiming, identifying. Good vs. evil. Right vs. wrong. Our explanations have become woven into our language, as the use of certain words spark thoughts that ripple into emotions throughout our systems. This jester act can be used to evoke fear throughout a nation, or move a reader to nearly climax while engulfed in erotic text. How fascinating, it all is… each system we have designed to help our silly little brains make sense of it. Criticism and praise is among the most powerful form of this, IMO. Have you ever been so fawned over, you’ve felt you reached the peak of physical attractiveness? Have you been contrarily so degraded, or scrutinized, you’ve allowed yourself to feel worthless? What is the human experience without impact of each other’s tongue? I’m not sure yet. But it’s something to think about. How grounded are you, into your own ideal version of yourself, your own truth beyond the 3D realm, beyond your physical body? How easily can you bring yourself back to baseline, or not stray from it at all, when coerced with the ideals from another? Where, for that matter, is your baseline?

Blood & Heat

Allowance of myself

as the sea to its great tide

in observance

unobstructed

preservation

of death, of life.

New Hope, PA

 Nested right on the border of New Jersey and Pennsylvania, is the quaint town of New Hope. Ziggy & I sporadically booked a room in the town Monday night, packed our bags and were on the road within a half hour of returning home from our day jobs. We spent the following day roaming, eating and indulging in outdoor photo opps (see mushy pics below.) Cultivating New Hope’s character, are shops filled with hand crafted treasures, third wave coffee shops and quite spectacular homes that stand as art galleries. Tree’s Not far down the road from New Hope is Lambertville, which hits the senses with similar Salem meets New Orleans vibes.

When Living Is Art

“In slowing down and living consciously, in coming home to ourselves, our very existence becomes the art form. The meaning is as rich or as poor as we claim it to be. To press linen is then as poised as backpacking the Maldives and packing tea before dawn roots us like barefooted steps across the Earth’s forest floor. Light lingers. The chipped paint on the shutters, all at once, writes words of brave perseverance. There is no destination, only moss covered resting beds scattered along the path of sweet relief. Won’t you rest?”

To be at one with community. To see beyond what we have known. To come home to our joy.