too gentle to live among wolves

I am one of the searchers. There are, I believe, millions of us.

We are not unhappy, but neither are we really content. We continue to explore life, hoping to uncover its ultimate secret. We continue to explore ourselves, hoping to understand.

We like to walk along the beach, we are drawn by the ocean, taken by its power, its unceasing motion, its mystery and unspeakable beauty. We like forests and mountains, deserts and hidden rivers, and the lonely cities as well.

Our sadness is as much a part of our lives as is our laughter. To share our sadness with one we love is perhaps as great a joy as we can know – unless it be to share our laughter.

We searchers are ambitious only for life itself, for everything beautiful it can provide.

Most of all we love and want to be loved.

We want to live in a relationship that will not impede our wandering, nor prevent our search, nor lock us in prison walls; that will take us for what little we have to give. We do not want to prove ourselves to another or compete for love.

For wanderers,

dreamers,

and lovers,

for lonely men and women who dare to ask of life everything good and beautiful.

It is for those who are too gentle to live among wolves.

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Kavanaugh

coming back around again

Everyone who terrifies you is sixty-five percent water.

And everyone you love is made of stardust, and I know sometimes

you cannot even breathe deeply, and

the night sky is no home, and

you have cried yourself to sleep enough times

that you are down to your last two percent, but

nothing is infinite,

not even loss.

You are made of the sea and the stars, and one day

you are going to find yourself again.

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F. Scott

with the earth

Now I see the greatest secret to making the best person:

To grow in the open air,

and eat,

and to sleep

with the earth.

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Walt Whitman

let the good stuff in

I had my hands in the river,
My feet back up on the banks
Looked up to the Lord above and said, “hey, Man, thanks.”

Sometimes,
I feel so good I’ve got to scream.

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She said, “Baby, I know exactly what you mean.”

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the busy bias

Our society praises busyness. It equates being busy with being successful. If you are busy, then you are important, admirable and in high demand of others. Busy bees buzzing around here and there, chasing perfection, constantly working to meet and exceed expectations.

Is this not a totally biased perspective? To be a busy workaholic will certainly bring about results, but what’s the cost? Of course, doing nothing at all would not be correct.

Busyness can be guise for those who find discomfort in stillness. Sometimes we cannot fathom what would become of our lives if we just… didn’t. If we just stopped. Perhaps, we’d find ourselves feeling anxious and guilty in this state of being. Busyness can mask the emptiness we fear to find within ourselves because, of course, our lives cannot be meaningless is we are busy.

We must be careful of the difference here. A balance can be established between sitting idle and being constantly on the go. That balance is where we can be most effective. Most satisfied. We flourish.

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