whispers on our lips…

She was fascinated with words. To her, words were things of beauty, each like a magical powder or potion that could be
combined with other words to create powerful spells.


— Dean Koontz —

o that abstract garden…

O that abstract garden of being
Tells me to be brave, and clear,
In the fire of living,
And in the journey through the year.
So I will grow me like an oak tree
And make life’s honey like a bee.
Each day I will walk an interesting mile
And with the sun I’ll share a smile.
I will play again like a child,
And celebrate what’s wild.
I will swim in every sea or river,
And reflect the light of the sublime giver.
I will be at ease with opposition,
And will cultivate intuition.
I will walk the surprising streets,
And dance to life’s unexpected beats.
I will notice all the phases of the moon
And try not to act too late or too soon.
I will write something new every day
And look at paintings in an alternative way.
I’ll not dream the same way twice;
But I’ll not be shy to repeat what’s nice.
I’ll have the courage, when needed, to change;
And I won’t forget that life is strange.
And so I’ll learn to love the simple things
As well as the complexity that life brings.
Good or bad I’ll learn to treat the same
And I’ll not forget that it’s all a mysterious game.
I’ll not let that general fear of death run my life
And I’ll make magic even out of strife.
Into the higher realms I will enter
And make my corner the centre.
O that abstract garden, make me clear,
Make me brave, without fear.
I intend to love this rich new year.

—Ben Okri —

each letter is truth…

I don’t know how to write love letters.
But I wanted to tell you that my whole being opened for you.

Since I fell in love with you everything is transformed
and is full of beauty…
love is like an aroma, like a current, like rain.
You know, my sky, you rain on me
and I, like the earth, receive you.

— Frida Kahlo —

don’t mind me…

There is something about words. In expert hands, manipulated deftly, they take you prisoner. Wind themselves around your limbs like spider silk, and when you are so enthralled you cannot move, they pierce your skin, enter your blood, numb your thoughts.
Inside you they work their magic.

– Dianne Setterfield –