(no subject)
Isn't life just a dream? Aren't there so many people that are just so inspiring that you want to be them? Or be as inspiring as they are? Or be filled with their same level of self-awareness and ability to draw forth the spiritual needs and ponderings of others - and help others to deal with the best and worst parts of themselves?
Rachel is inspiring. She lives in a dream, and all that she is is perfection, even though a perfect world could never really be perfect, and even though she is present to fear and sadness, more than maybe anyone I have ever met. And even though I had to hold back the skeptic in me so many times.
Nanda is inspiring. Her eyes are dazzling because they reveal her very nature. She struggles to be free, and she is free. She is so beautiful like a wild pony running accross a beach amidst crashing waves.
Annie is inspiring. She is a chorus of voices, crying out to the earth's four corners, singing of joy and of sorrow, of confusion and want and need and knowledge and understanding and humor and raw emotion. She is a symphony. Or a folk tune. She is the song Rachel played tonight on her beautiful instrument - some kind of flute I guess.
I feel alive tonight. And warmed and renewed. Recrisped, if you will, like chips put back in the oven - Rachel reheated us with her tea and her soup and her hot tub and her stories and her words and her home and her pets and her open arms and her heart soul and being.
Rachel is inspiring. She lives in a dream, and all that she is is perfection, even though a perfect world could never really be perfect, and even though she is present to fear and sadness, more than maybe anyone I have ever met. And even though I had to hold back the skeptic in me so many times.
Nanda is inspiring. Her eyes are dazzling because they reveal her very nature. She struggles to be free, and she is free. She is so beautiful like a wild pony running accross a beach amidst crashing waves.
Annie is inspiring. She is a chorus of voices, crying out to the earth's four corners, singing of joy and of sorrow, of confusion and want and need and knowledge and understanding and humor and raw emotion. She is a symphony. Or a folk tune. She is the song Rachel played tonight on her beautiful instrument - some kind of flute I guess.
I feel alive tonight. And warmed and renewed. Recrisped, if you will, like chips put back in the oven - Rachel reheated us with her tea and her soup and her hot tub and her stories and her words and her home and her pets and her open arms and her heart soul and being.