In the old times, our elders say, the trees talked to each other. They’d stand in their own council and craft a plan. But scientists decided long ago that plants were deaf and mute, locked in isolation without communication. The possibility of conversation was summarily dismissed. Science pretends to be purely rational, implement neutral, a system of knowledge-making in which the observation is independent of the observer. And yet the conclusion was drawn that plants cannot communicate because they lack the mechanisms that animals use to speak. The potentials for plants were seen purely through the lens of animal capacity. Until quite recently no one seriously explored the possibility that plants might “speak” to one another. But pollen has been carried reliably on the wind for eons, communicated by makes to receptive females to make those very nuts. If the wind can be trusted with that fecund responsibility, why not with messages?
In one of the most perfect moments of my life, it was like God himself gave me a hug. I am absolutely humbled by his infinitely beautiful creation. Iceland is a special place.
“We’re all hurtling towards death, yet here we are for the moment, alive. Each of us knowing we’re going to die, each of us secretly believing we won't”
“We met at the wrong time. That’s what I keep telling myself anyway. Maybe one day years from now, we’ll meet in a coffee shop in a far away city somewhere and we could give it another shot.”
Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind (2004) dir. Michel Gondry
I don’t mind what happens. That is the essence of inner freedom. It is a timeless spiritual truth: release attachment to outcomes, deep inside yourself, you’ll feel good no matter what.
"Do you believe in an afterlife? Where do we go when we die? I don't know. No one actually knows. We believe things. We have faith in things and ideas and ancient teachings. Our fear of death and loss makes the question dishonest. We don't ask objectively. We beg.
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Science says that matter is neither created nor destroyed. Meaning we are already impossibly old. And when we rearrange, our pieces will endure. The miracle of our current arrangement is one measure in a long song. One lovely paragraph in quite the novel. If time is a physical thing, the fourth dimension, already whole and only perceived as linear by our animal brains, then our life is eternal already, as the page of a book is always there to be read and reread forever. Perfectly important in the story. Our lives are the closing up of the consciousness of the Universe in a few words in the poem. I hope the great rearrangement comes like a lonely creek suddenly pouring into the ocean. And bits of our uniqueness drift from Antarctica to Alaska. And we feel it all." - Jedidiah Jenkins
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Kazakhstan’s Minister of Communications and Informatics has blocked the Tumblr site because it contained 60 sites of terrorism, extremism, and pornography in 2015.