Whatever can be threatened, whatever can be shaken, whatever you fear cannot stand, is destined to crash. Do not go down with the ship. Let that which is destined to become the past slip away. Believe that the real you is that which beckons from the future. If it is a sadder you, it will be a wiser one. And dawn will follow the darkness sooner or later. Rebirth can never come without death.
―Robert McNair Price
When love awakens in your life, in the night of your heart, it is like the dawn breaking within you. Where before there was anonymity, now there is intimacy; where before there was fear, now there is courage; where before in your life there was awkwardness, now there is a rhythm of grace and gracefulness; where before you used to be jagged, now you are elegant and in rhythm with your self. When love awakens in your life, it is like a rebirth, a new beginning. ―John O’Donohue, Anam Cara: A Book of Celtic Wisdom
Let’s burn our masks at midnight
and as flickering flames ascend,
under the witness of star-clouds,
let us vow to reclaim our true selves.
Done with hiding and weary of lying,
we’ll reconcile without and within.
Then, like naked squint-eyed newborns,
we’ll greet the glorious birth of dawn;
blinking at the blazing, wondrous colors
we somehow failed to notice before.”
―John Mark Green
Synkroniciti is all about making things. These ten posts feature the most viewed pieces of art that were produced by synkroniciti in 2015. Click on the title to view the post.
2015 featured our first online collaboration, Trash Talking, coupling my poetry with intriguing photographs by Michael Bogdanffy-Kriegh. Photography and poetry were big this year. My serialized novel, Beloved’s Journey, which began with a bit of a following, had to go on hiatus as my schedule and circumstances didn’t allow it to move forward. Sorry for all the delays; I have plans to revive it in 2016.
Last set from Lake Scott! What a beautiful morning that was. The cloud cover made things even more impressive by delaying and softening the sunrise. If you’d like to read about my experience there, please click here.
Carl sat musing until the sun leaped above the prairie, and in the grass about him all the small creatures of day began to tune their tiny instruments. Birds and insects without number began to chirp, to twitter, to snap and whistle, to make all manner of fresh shrill noises. The pasture was flooded with light; every clump of ironweed and snow-on-the-mountain threw a long shadow, and the golden light seemed to be rippling through the curly grass like the tide racing in.