Sacred Graffiti
Your health is what you make it. It’s never going to be a cookie-cutter approach that someone else prescribes. Your body is unique & it’s up to you to nourish it in the individual ways it needs. When in doubt, listen to your body. It always tells what’s working, and what isn’t.
Ashley Barnes (via liquid-diamonds-flowing)
The global economy is built on the principle that one place can be exploited, even destroyed, for the sake of another place
Wendell Berry
If we were all to share these things and have five high technology lawnmowers (instead of five hundred) per suburb, such a lawnmower could never viably be produced, and therefore the monetary economic model as we know it would collapse, given that the same logic applies to all other high technology products also. [We have built] an economy where sharing means collapse.
Mark Boyle - Moneyless Manifesto
The moment one gives close attention to anything, even a blade of grass, it becomes a mysterious, awesome, indescribably magnificent world in itself.
Henry Miller (via rockandrora)

(Source: julesofnature)

Every day we all sell our bodies for money in one way or another. We charge people to prepare food for them, to accommodate them, to heal them, to mind their children or elderly parents - things that some previous societies couldn’t even conceive of asking for something in return for.
Mark Boyle - The Moneyless Manifesto
Even after all this time, the sun never says to the Earth, ‘You owe Me’. Look what happens with a love like that, it lights the Whole Sky.’
So many people tiptoe through life, so carefully, to arrive, safely, at death
Jermaine Evans
A lot of people dream dreams, but only a few have the courage to see them through
Simon Marshall-Jones
I realized that you had no power over me, that it was not you alone who were my lover but the entire earth. It was as if my soul had extended countless sensitive feelers, and I lived within everything, perceiving simultaneously Niagara Falls thundering far beyond the ocean and the long golden drops rustling and pattering in the lane.
Vladimir Nabokov, Sounds, from The Stories of Vladimir Nabokov (via bookmania)
Down the steep drop-off to sea
without plummeting.
Returned by thermals and sweat to the sky
without rising.
Each following the lost one before it,
thirteen sandpipers and their aluminum streaks
write one word for me in the air
and at the same time
erase it.
John Sibley Williams (via talkativolive)