“At the beginning of my life, I received my teachings directly from the natural world. I understood the rhythm of existence through the interplay of light and shadow and the subtle changes of the air and climate. I learned that for every mood there is a corresponding season and that our lives are seamlessly connected to the great life of the earth.
When I withdrew in winter and found myself in dark and inaccessible regions, I came to know that darkness is a time for the migration of the soul: I saw then what we hold in common with the roots and seeds—a stage of mute and invisible growth. My inner changes and emotions were often triggered by the land: I would feel the breakthrough of the spring as the windswept sky and a sudden movement of the clouds brought forth a new round of activity. I would become like the hard, insistent shoots sprouting upward from the earth, and something in me would be heartened and encouraged as I stretched my spirit toward the light.
The eruptions of the crocus and the daffodil still remind me that in the days ahead I will know the exhilaration of opening that belongs to the buds and flowers. By such observations, we discover that life is not static or fixed; one thing flows into the next, and we are standing in the midst of it, wide-eyed and innocent.”—Valerie Andrews
“She stubs out her cigarette in the ashtray, then settles herself against him, ear to his chest. She likes to hear his voice this way, as if it begins not in his throat but in his body, like a hum or a growl, or like a voice speaking from deep underground. Like the blood moving from her own heart: a word, a word, a word.”—Margaret Atwood, from The Blind Assassin (via seabois)