“People travel to wonder at the height of the mountains, at the huge waves of the seas, at the long course of the rivers, at the vast compass of the ocean, at the circular motion of the stars, and yet they pass by themselves without wondering.”—St. Augustine
There are those songs in life that you hear in this undefinable place where events and emotions combine, where self and song coincide, and they take you on a journey (for lack of a better word here) to a particular time…no, to a particular feeling in time.
When these songs hit you, their vibrations travel through your senses firing neurons and sending messages which, within seconds, force you to stop everything, sing all the words (‘cause of course you know every word) and allow the song to take over as it begs you to feel every last ounce of everything there is to feel.
And when that happens, no matter how much it aches or the opposite, you have to marvel at the phenomenal magic (for lack of a better word here) of music and the mastery of the artist with the ability to unknowingly awaken emotion, inspiration, and new information within you.
A big mahalo nui loa to Lauryn Hill for creating this one, for being so real with it, for having the most incredible voice, and for singing songs that touch the deepest part of our souls.
The fact is that they’re there, they’re a part of me, and in order to learn to love me, I had to learn to love them too.
They’re not ugly if I feel beautiful, and I feel beautiful when I’m happy. My happiness isn’t determined by some patterns on my skin that reveal how I have grown. My happiness is determined by far greater things, so I don’t waste energy hating something that is part of me, it is much easier to love.
Let others vibrate as they vibrate and want the best for them. Never mind how they are flowing to you. You concentrate on how you are flowing. Because one who is connected to the Energy Stream is more powerful, more influential than a million who are not. via orangemoon
With a very few exceptions, your typical beautiful women don’t turn me on. Sometimes I’ll be walking down the street and a friend will nudge me and say, “Wow! Did you get a load of that girl?” But strangely enough, I can’t recall a thing about this supposed knockout. And gorgeous actresses or models don’t do a thing for me. I don’t know why, but there it is. For me the boundary dividing the real world and the world of dreams has always been vague, and whenever infatuation raised it’s almighty head, even during my early teens, a beautiful face wasn’t enough to get my engines started.
I was always attracted not by some quantifiable, external beauty, but by something deep down, something absolute. Just as some people have a secret love for rainstorms, earthquakes, or blackouts, I liked that certain undefinable something directed my way by members of the opposite sex. For want of a better word, call it magnetism. Like it or not, it’s a kind of a power that snares people and reels them in.
The closest comparison might be the power of perfume. Perhaps even the master blender himself can’t explain how a fragrance that has a special power is created. Science sure can’t explain it. Still, the fact remains that a certain combination of fragrances can captivate the opposite sex like the scent of an animal in heat. One kind of fragrance might attract fifty out of a hundred people. And another scent will attract the other fifty. But there also are scents that only one or two people will find wildly exciting. And I have the ability, from far away, to sniff out those special scents. When I do, I want to go up to the girl who radiates this aura and say, Hey, I picked it up, you know. No one else gets it, but I do.
When it comes to my past “relationships”… I have nothing to write about, nothing to say. I don’t even let those people cross my mind these days. I dug their minimal impression on my life out of my soul, as quick as one rips a weed from a thriving garden.
When I do think upon that part of my life, I laugh or I just shake my head at my own foolish choices. It’s not that I am harboring anger or resentment, it’s simply a recognition that whatever it was that I had with those men…it meant absolutely nothing to me.
“Yes, we live in a sexist culture, in which women have no good choices when it comes to our bodies. We live in a sexist culture in which women are valued primarily as sexual objects, and at the same time are shamed for our sexuality. It seems to me that we have two choices as to how to respond to this. We can try to navigate the narrow, essentially impossible shoals of these contradictory expectations, and try to find that perfect, socially acceptable line between slut and prude.
Or we can say, “Fuck it. There is no way I can win — so I’m going to do whatever the fuck I want. I’m going to wear overalls, or I’m going to wear high heels. I’m going to have sex with twenty strangers in a night, or I’m not going to have sex with anyone. I’m going to dress conservatively and professionally in public at all times, or I’m going to sell naked pictures of myself on the Internet if I bloody well feel like it.”
And in saying, “I can’t win, so I’m going to do whatever the fuck I want to do,” we can create the beginnings of a victory. We can create the beginnings of a world where we really can win. We can create the beginnings of a world where we’re a little more free than the women who came before us… and where the women who come after us are a little more free than we are. We probably can’t create a perfect world, where women’s bodies aren’t commodified in the slightest (not in this generation, anyway). But we can create a better world: a world where women’s bodies and minds belong less to the patriarchy, and more to ourselves.”—Greta Christina (What I May Do With My Naked Body: A Reply to Azar Majedi About the #NudePhotoRevolutionaries Calendar)