I planned to write a book about the color blue. Now I’m suddenly surrounded by green, green gagging me pleasurably, green holding onto my hips from behind, digging into the cleft, the cleft that can be made. You have no idea what kind of light you’ll let in when you drop the bowl, no idea what will make you full

to love the hours between snooze segments that the French called dorveille, or wakesleep. “Waking into them is different, childlike,” he wrote. “The time feels freer. The urge to be busy abates.”

“How delicate healing is, as if nothing were happening.”

i killed a plant once because i gave
it too much water. lord, i worry
that love is violence.

— José Olivarez, from “Getting Ready to Say I Love You to My Dad, It Rains,” Citizen Illegal

“[I]n a lowland where a catatonic April was sinking, flushed of all memory. […] where an ancient way of life is speckled with a sweet, oriental anxiety, your words became iridescent, like the scales of a beached mullet.” — Eugenio Montale, from section I of “Dora Markus,” Selected Poems (New Directions, 1965)

What I am saying is that we took care of each other. What I am saying is we took pleasure in doing so.

∆ "The Crane Wife," by CJ Hauser July 16, 2019

Both Jung and Gallegos agree that when one window or function is over developed at the expense of the others a kind of ‘One-sidedness’ causes problems in life and prevents the development of the human personality. This is corrected by giving attention to each mode of knowing. This takes a subtle grace of letting go and holding on. For the modes to work together one has to be receptive listening and active participation with the inner and outer reality.

My heart is a child, it doesn’t understand endings.