I gather quotes like flowers, inhale, exhale, the freshness of words vibrating in spring air.

Hildegard of Bingen: “You are a flowering orchard.”

How clear that seems in spring.  There’s one particular bird – a little guy who sings and chirps continuously from one tree and then another.   His song wraps around me, entwines, dissolving what divides.  

Carl Jung: Where insight rules beyond differences, all the pairs of opposites come together.

Rilke: Do not be bewildered by the surfaces – in the depths all becomes law.  

Rumi: Open your hands if you want to be held.  

Elizabeth Barrett Browning: He lives most life whoever breathes most air.  

Marion Woodman: The crone is the maturing of the feminine, in both men and women. Here, there is no concern with power, nothing left to lose. The crone finds herself a tuning fork among others, bringing them into center.

Can this tiny singing bird be a crone? I center in the sounds.

Annie Dillard asks, What does it feel like to be alive? And answers: Living, you stand under a waterfall.

Section of the redwood trunk sans squirrel in the moment
Orchids pour like waterfalls

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