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Nobody Home

Is there time for this

she asks

hands pressed together

like the wing of a prayer

really, is there time --

for this?

And you can’t see her eyes

behind lids and lashes.

Does she really want to


If so, why the hair curl

where the shoulders

curve upwards

like a smile or a shrug.

Not to care

says her


Not really, you see.

You can’t reach me


quite frankly

I’m not in here.

More fool you--

for thinking that I was.

Art: Mario Almos | Flickr


If we had a keen vision and feeling of all ordinary human life, it would be like hearing the grass grow and the squirrel's heart beat, and we should die of that roar which lies on the other side of silence. 

George Eliot



I live in hazard and infinity. The cosmos stretches around me, meadow on meadow of galaxies, reach on reach of dark space, steppes of stars, oceanic darkness and light. There is no amenable god in it, no particular concern or particular mercy. Yet everywhere I see a living balance, a rippling of tension, an enormous yet mysterious simplicity, an endless breathing of light. And I comprehend that being is understanding that I must exist in hazard but that the whole is not in hazard. Seeing and knowing this is being conscious; accepting it is being human.

John Fowles, Aristos


“To love. To be loved. To never forget your own insignificance. To never get used to the unspeakable violence and the vulgar disparity of life around you. To seek joy in the saddest places. To pursue beauty to its lair. To never simplify what is complicated or complicate what is simple. To respect strength, never power. Above all, to watch. To try and understand. To never look away. And never, never to forget.”

Arundhati Roy

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