I awoke this morning in the gold light turning this way and that
thinking for a moment it was one day like any other.
But the veil had gone from my darkened heart and I thought
it must have been the quiet candlelight
that filled my room,
it must have been the first easy rhythm with which I breathed myself to sleep,
it must have been the prayer I said speaking to the otherness of the night.
And I thought this is the good day
you could meet your love,
this is the gray day someone close to you could die.
This is the day you realize
how easily the thread is broken
between this world and the next
and I found myself sitting up
in the quiet pathway of light,
the tawny close grained cedar
burning round me like fire
and all the angels of this housely
heaven ascending through the first
roof of light the sun has made.
This is the bright home
in which I live, this is where
I ask my friends to come,
this is where I want to love all the things
it has taken me so long
to learn to love.
This is the temple of my adult aloneness
and I belong to that aloneness
as I belong to my life.
There is no house
like the house of belonging.
Mar 13, 2024
Related Recs
🗒
I’ve always felt an almost defiant pull toward spaces not built for peace—the kinds of places where calm isn’t handed to you, but carved out by necessity. For years, it was bathrooms. Pink and white tiled sanctuaries where panic could unravel in private, where I could collapse and collect myself in the same breath. Those spaces hugged my chaos without asking questions.
Now I find myself inside a library—a new one, unfamiliar yet unnervingly tender. It doesn’t try to soothe me. It just is, and in that quiet refusal to coddle, I feel at home. I am alone, yes, but not lonely. I am submerged, not lost. For the first time in a long time,
I can hear myself without interference. I’m beginning to meet myself where I am, instead of where I should be.
To the strange, unlikely rooms that have held me—thank you. You were never meant to be safe harbors, but somehow, you were.
Apr 23, 2025
⭐
there is something figuratively beautiful about the things we know and don’t know, the sublime and mundane
and when you visit the beach, do you ever think about if the animals who live in the embrace of the depths remember the beauty of the ocean?
where the salt envelops every single one of us,
accepting us as kin
letting her wind tousle our raw, visceral edges
and pepper them with her sea-foamed kisses
which tell me that it’s okay to pretend
and okay to tell the ocean all of myself
the ocean reaches out to me, hands cloaked in the sharp coolness of water and something else- something i don’t understand
as I poke around in a tide pool, like a vendor at a bustling market, observing the wares that the ocean has to offer
and i turn around and ask her, do the barnacles see themselves? do anemones understand their own beauty, fragile and ephemeral?
i don’t think they do.
but the ocean doesn’t have any words for me, instead shutting my mouth with a shhhh
as her sandy dress rustles down the shore, laced with white foam and gossamer trails of ripples
and wordlessly, tells me to look
and i do.
until the sun hurriedly retreats from the wispy radiance of the moon, enrobed in puffy clouds
and it's just the three of us.
the moon tugs at the ocean’s hand, dancing to their own secret rhythm,
letting me see them in their love.
personally, i think it’s beautiful \\ and i wish i had something like it
and the ocean laughs. nothing jeering or ridiculing, simply an acknowledgement that i understand.
everything around me falls,
like petals cast off from a chrysanthemum.
and then, we were wordless
like the ocean had never spoken in the first place.
i want to descend into the depths of the ocean one day,
to be hugged once more and never again.
not because i am tired of being alive,
but frankly within me exists too much zeal to live.
uncontrollable surges of wow i am alive in flesh, blood through my veins, and thoughts in my head
become more addictive than any form of fentanyl, cocaine, heroin
and better than any gateway into a better life
or a better existence, transcending normality
and the moment it’s just me in my head, without the viscous energy of being alive
suddenly drains me like a leaking bucket,
decrepit and dry.
i want to burn like a torch, setting my world alight into embers,
into flames,
into an inferno.
Sunrise:: being alight || with a halo of only thoughts and dreams || and the divinity of something new
2d ago
🌄
I have many Ideas. I ponder over them like an obsessive collector; organizing, re-organizing, packing them into words so the meaning is captured, transferable. Most of my transformative experiences are unexplainable - how does one capture the depth of a still, silent night? The whispering of leaves in warm summer breezes. Vague feelings of wholism while sitting in the grass, photosynthesizing like plant ancestors - a fish swims without direction. Many call it god but the church is alienating; the word massacred and butchered beyond the recognition of what it once meant.
One idea I have kept unmolested by the opinions of others, is that these holistic experiences in nature, with friends, live music shows, where the pulse of life beats strongly, are everything. An anchor point for a life well lived. It’s not enough to just be in nature, alchemizing the circumstance missing the key ingredient. A couple of friends and I went on a trip to where the ocean went on forever, unbroken horizon. We were down by the water, sunset and glistening, warmth of the sun and sand beneath my feet. But it was nothing more than looking. I did not have access to this other way of being - locked out, truthfully, by being eaten alive by the stress of exams and stewing in the feelings of being unlovable. It is somehow within you; the trees and ocean reflect it back to me. A quality of self brought out by sincerity and solitude. It’s everything, reflected in everything worthwhile.
Apr 17, 2024
Top Recs from @seths
💿
It’s a nice little dopamine hit and helps you connect to old familiar feelings of comfort. I started doing this after a bout of pandemic depression and it still helps me get out of a funk every once in a while.
Mar 7, 2024
Mar 2, 2024
Mar 7, 2024