I like it when it rains hard. It sounds like white noise everywhere, which is like silence but not empty.
Mark Haddon, The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night-Time (via nostalgicjoy)

(Source: iwanttocatchastar, via nostalgicjoy)

No matter what continent we call home, we read poetry to restrict us in time and to aspire toward timelessness — whether we are in our most vibrant cities or in the remote woods.
━ David Biespiel
Mother your heart.

You said you wanted to go away because of the void in your heart; you wanted to leave the unfortunate reminiscence far behind. However, my dear, how oh how could you even begin to fill that space again, when your soul and spirit had long fled? 

I urge you, therefore, stay. Take courage; take ownership. Be fully present, so that your heart would be orphaned not.

weandthecolor:

Believe in Yourself – Nothing is Impossible
Graphic artworks from a personal project by Yevgeniya Glova, a Ukrainian graphic designer.
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属于我们的星光

      猎户座坐着三颗明星。它们不分昼夜地坚守岗位,无时无刻地等着,盼着那一眼瞬间。

      终于,我们抽出时间,从岛屿的各角落聚集一堂。大伙踏着轻快的步伐抵达咱们的老地方。

      三星之一此见这一幕立刻轻推其二。明星们突然振作起来。猎户座旗下的众星类也像收到了无声的命令似的停下手上的工作。只路过的流星也好奇地停下脚步,围上来看热闹。除了之间传出的几声……快开始了,快开始了!,星空中鸦雀无声,期待满满。

      吉他的第一响利如刀地划破夜晚的沉默,也力如重拳地打通个个通往亮嗓的门。防卫全陷。在这光荣的漩涡中,嗓音的质量和五音六律的标准都是次要;我们每颗心中随着彼此心跳起伏的旋律才是首要。大家心与心间的距离在曲子的高潮迭起中又被拉近了。

      众星们听着忧柔悦耳的歌声,和身边的伙伴不由自主地跳起舞来-不亦乐乎。三颗明星见眼前这场景时,背往后靠,然后各自满意地会心一笑。猎户座的首领发言道:布满大地各个角落的人类每晚毫无意识地望着夜空,希望我们能为他们的人生多点缀上一些美丽闪耀的浪漫情趣。我们啊,却和其他受造之物一样,在这宇宙的最高峰日盼夜盼着神的众子显身1

      今宵星光特别灿烂,仿佛天庭中收藏已数万年的宝石就为了我们而在这良辰里全被展示出来。这是众星们给予我们众子的奖赏,或其实是属于我们的明光在照耀?2

1]罗马书 8:19 
2]腓立比书 2:15

You are as flowering…
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Words invite possibility.
━ Tracy K. Smith
blue-voids:

Otto Steinert - Call, 1950
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Fight inferno with His all-consuming fire.

In the month of April, a bunch of us city boys and girls (or for greater age precision, ladies and gentlemen) trod on Jaco Island, a supposed sacred piece of land in the extreme east end of Timor-Leste that was a mere five-minute boat ride away from the Tutuala subdistrict. Legend had it that no one was allowed to stay overnight on the island because of its sacredness, and legend surely was right.

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In the month of May, Cocoon organized our first ever Freedom Camp with much assistance of Team Fantastic Five from Kum Yan Methodist Church. Attended by thirty odd bursary students, the camp spun over Timor’s Independence Day and drove home the message of freedom and responsibility, together with our students’ virgin experience with campfire and melted marshmallows.

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In the month of June, three teams of mission trippers from my church in Singapore swept across the face of Timor’s emerging almost-cosmopolitan capital and one of its neighboring districts. During my short stay with the first team in Hera, a subdistrict in the capital, I arrived at a new understanding of the power of stripes. Isaiah 53:5 (NKJV) says, “by His stripes we are healed.” My personal witness in the last ten years as a believer has proved the above-mentioned veracious statement, no doubt. Then came those little airborne ones, each a wrath explosive. By their black and yellow stripes, we were (well-nigh) stung.

After retiring into our quarters, the girls noticed a relatively significant number of honey bees trying to overpower the mesh fortress over the openings in the wall. For some reason, they looked like they were dying even before we attempted any extermination. One of them, plausibly the more wrathful one, did manage to wriggle past the mesh but not quite survive our skilful defense. Nevertheless, the defense strategists, namely Joyce and I, applauded its perseverance and proceeded to reinforce the protectiveness of the mesh with an additional layer of masking tape and Baygon. Fully satisfied, we stood observing the aftermath for one whole hour. Between the gunpoint of death and the tomb, all of them were, instead, busy releasing pheromones selflessly — their SOS distress signal that activates further defense reinforcement.

The earth gradually came to a standstill as creation hit the hay. Another day was eventually struck off the calendar. I lay in my makeshift bed completely convinced and in agreement with Marianne Williamson, that we are indeed powerful beyond measure. With every negativity — such as melancholy, disappointment, anger, hatred — accompanies a decision of stewardship to make thereafter. A pastor by the last name of Johnson (No, Bill is not his first name.) has illustrated my exact sentiments last week in church: We can choose to build a wall or a bridge with the stones we have been thrown at. If the honey bees can turn vengeance into a propelling drive that motivates them to fulfill their final call of duty despite death slowly but strongly and surely consuming their souls, the better man within our innermost being is able to irrefutably rise above the graves of gloom. “A radically renewed mind is the ultimate frustration to hell,” Lance Wallnau has splendidly put it.

Every source of negativity originates from some form of death. For example, trust upon death becomes betrayal, disappointment etc. All circumstances and/or thoughts that are held captive within the claws of death can be reversed to life and shouts of joy, if only we keep the hope on. Of course, most are born not with that innate ability, including me. We can only begin to realize how we can hope when we have caught a glimpse of what Hope looks like (after which the floodgates will open up to a fountain of non-stop hoping, yo). I stumble and fall, and stumble and fall at my stumbles and falls. Yet, these piercing fluctuations resonant with such fullness of life. By the power of grace akin to the morning dew, the earth will give birth to her dead. He will swallow up death forever and wipe away the tears from all faces (Isaiah 28:5; 26:19). 

I know what my choice will be today, tomorrow and in the days to come.

Like a newborn being intimately embraced in the father’s bosom, I am in awe of the infinite wisdom and beauty of my Maker, who has meticulously engineered our body, soul and spirit to work magically the way they do in the likeness of His triune being. One must be thoroughly obsessed with what one is creating in order to render such scrupulosity from the beginning to the end. What wondrous love His is!

We need never be hopeless, because we can never be irreparably broken. We think that we are invincible because we are.
━ John Green, Looking for Alaska
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Chris Anthony
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Svjetlana Tepavcevic
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