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under the water she sang a story

something second-hand and broken still can make a pretty sound

Name:
delicate unraveling
Birthdate:
13 September
Location:


She felt as if she had lived a long, long time.
silly little ninnynoddle.


The world is indeed full of peril and in it there are many dark places. But still there is much that is fair. And though in all lands, love is now mingled with grief, it still grows, perhaps, the greater.


Little Lotte let her mind wander. Little Lotte thought - am I fonder of dolls? Or of goblins or shoes? Or of riddles or frocks? ...Little Lotte thought of everything. And nothing.
♥♥♥
Everyone hides who they are at least some of the time. Sometimes you bury that part of yourself so deeply that you have to be reminded it's there at all. And sometimes you just want to forget who you are all together.
♥♥♥
Confront the dark parts of yourself, and work to banish them with illumination and forgiveness. Your willingness to wrestle with your demons will cause your angels to sing. Use the pain as fuel, as a reminder of your strength.
♥♥♥
Very few beings really seek knowledge in this world. Mortal or immortal, few really ASK. On the contrary, they try to wring from the unknown the answers they have already shaped in their own minds. To really ask is to open the door to the whirlwind. The answer may annihilate the question and the questioner.
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We meet people and fall in love and when we part they leave marks for us to remember them by. Our lovers sculpt us, they define us, for better or worse. Like a pinball, we slam into them and rebound in our different directions propelled by the contact. And after the parting we might be scared, stronger or more fragile, or needy, or angry, or guilty, but never unchanged. Our lovers linger inside us, like ghosts, haunting the corridors and deserted rooms, sometimes whispering, sometimes screaming, but always there waiting.
♥♥♥
People change and promises are broken;
Clouds can move and skies will be wide open -
Don't forget to take a breath.
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Love is not only always love for a person.

You can love a work of art. Indeed, a work of art is an invitation to love. For it offers itself up to be recognized. Art is an opportunity for openness. Exactly the same is true of philosophy.
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Music expresses that which cannot be said, and on which it is impossible to be silent.
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Passion. It lies in all of us. Sleeping, waiting. And though unwanted, unbidden - it will stir, open its jaws, and howl. It speaks to us, guides us. Passion rules us all. And we obey. What other choice do we have? Passion is the source of our finest moments. The joy of love. The clarity of hatred. And the ecstasy of grief. If we could live without passion, maybe we'd know some kind of peace. But we would be hollow. Empty rooms, shuttered and dank. Without passion, we'd be truly dead.
♥♥♥
So what's it all add up to? It's hard to say. But me, I'd say this was a test...up against good, evil, angels, devils, destiny, and God himself, they made their own choice. They chose family. And, well, isn't that kinda the whole point?

No doubt, endings are hard. But then again - nothing ever really ends, does it?
♥♥♥
Just keep moving on - anything you do, let it come from you. Then it will be new. Give us more to see.

If I cannot fly, let me sing.


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