“In a swamp, as in meditation, you begin to glimpse how elusive, how inherently insubstantial, how fleeting our thoughts are, our identities. There is magic in this moist world, in how the mind lets go, slips into sleepy water, circles and nuzzles the banks of palmetto and wild iris, how it seeps across dreams, smears them into the upright world, rots the wood of treasure chests, welcomes the body home.” WorldMindHomeDreamBodyWaterMeditationMagicIdentityLetting GoWoodsCirclesTreasureChestsSlipsOur ThoughtsGlimpseFleetingElusiveSleepySwampsIrisesTreasure Chests Book:Stirring the Mud: On Swamps, Bogs, and Human Imagination Source: Stirring the Mud: On Swamps, Bogs, and Human Imagination
“Last night I saw your ghost pedalling a bicycle with a basket towards a moon as full as my heavy head and I wanted nothing more than to be sitting in that basket like ET with my glowing heart glowing right through my chest and my glowing finger pointing in the direction of our home.” InspirationalHeartHomeWantedLastsPoetryNightSawsMoonSittingFingersHeavyGhostChestsPointingLast NightBicycleGlowingBasketsPointing Fingers Author:Andrea Gibson