Death is a constant theme in life. Semantically, the irony in that is nothing short of ridiculous. In reality, it's nothing short of truth.
Death is elusive. Some fear it. Others crave it. Others too struggle with a delicate balance of both. Some face it daily - whether facing their own, or death of another and confronting that loss; whether resulting from the nature of their profession, or from their family and social circumstances; and others still rarely experience it so directly.
It's baffling. People simply cease to be. One season they are there and influential, and then they are gone.
It's destructive. Causing ripples of pain, dysfunction, assumptions, and pretending.
It also can be enriching and beautiful. Causing ripples of honestly. Necessitating care. Vulnerability. The act of confiding.
In summary, it's weird.
Friday, 20 June 2014
Tuesday, 3 June 2014
summer
cue the consumption of strange concoctions... such as this toasted dumpstered freezer-burned slice of sourdough bread topped with homemade pesto (made from garlic greens, kale, pea shoots and basil):
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)