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There is a silence in the beginning. The life within us grows quiet. There is little fear. No matter how all this comes out, from now on it cannot not exist ever again. * The present pushes back the life of regret. It draws forward the life of desire. Soon memory will have started sticking itself all over us. We were fashioned from clay in a hurry, poor throwing may mean it didn’t matter to the makers if their pots cracked. * On the mountain tonight the full moon faces the full sun. Now could be the moment when we fall apart or we become whole. Our time seems to be up—I think I even hear it stopping. Then why have we kept up the singing for so long? Because that’s the sort of determined creature we are. Before us, our first task is to astonish, and then, harder by far, to be astonished. We come to be astonished. To be reminded that the world—this life—is still full of astonishing things: unexplainable acts of goodness, stunning beauty, impossible hope. We come because we need—every one of us—to fall to our knees from time to time, in wonder. In awe. - Galway Kinnell
This sense that something went wrong. The sense that we have fallen and taken the world down with us. The sense that all might have turned out better had she not made some colossal mistake in the beginning. The sense that nature disapproves, and every flower is shouting about the impending cataclysm because a dark mother tasted the fruit of unbearable joy. Dear friend, don't you know that humans hesitate and cower before uncertainty age after age, inventing this story again and again? It's how we feel when we don't know how to breathe, when we don't know how to pause between heartbeats, to savor the delicate bouquet of this moment. Some say heaven will appear when this tribulation is over. I say heaven is an infinitesimal grain of silence at the tip of your exhalation, just before you receive the gift of another breath. Meet me here. We'll dance barefoot in the garden where nothing ever went wrong, and there was only one tree, whose roots went deep into the loam, whose branches bent down with clusters of ripening sweet stars, and a sparkling serpent spiraled up the spine of the Goddess. The serpent was Wisdom. The Goddess was Eve. She marveled at the dust in the palm of her hand, blew upon it, and created a Man. - Alfred LaMotte
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