"If they raise the subway fare one more time, I’m going to explode. I’m making nine dollars an hour. I walk home three hours from work every day to save that $2.50, because that’s a half gallon of milk for me and my daughter. And every time they raise the fare, they have a ‘hearing.’ But they aren’t hearing anything. It’s a fucking joke. If you go to one of those ‘hearings,’ every single person stands up and says: ‘Don’t raise the fare.’ Then they raise it anyway. Oh man, it burns me up. ‘We need the money,’ they say, ‘America is hurting.’ That’s bullshit! If I see one more TV program bragging about multimillion dollar homes I’m gonna scream. How about a fucking TV program that shows me if there is anywhere in this city that I can fucking afford to live anymore. I’m sorry, but it’s burning me up."
|—||F Scott Fitzgerald (via jbleaksquotes)|
I want to live in an old house like this and fix it up to make it livable so bad.
|—||Pema Chödrön (via purplebuddhaproject)|
I climbed down to some tracks a few weeks ago where a train had derailed itself. If I watched the news, I might have known more before adventuring down with a former friend. It was such a strange sight. I don’t want to call it beautiful, but there was an odd and very rustic appeal in witnessing the aftermath of the wreckage. It made me ponder the idea that machinery is fallible like all else in this world.
Then my friend and I were chased down by a man in a truck guarding the sight, and we left of our own volition after conferring with him, both quickly and politely.
My life is something funny.
I can’t decide if it’s peculiarity that makes it so, or just that I have a strange sense of humor.
I got to thinking in the passenger seat of said friend’s car that life has no intrinsic or external meaning. There is nothing outside of existence that can be fathomed, simply because nothing cannot exist outside of what already is. I have no god to thank, no creator that made me imagery. I am not personified of something supposedly better than myself. I am here in this beautiful, physical world with this body, this ‘shell.’ There are lungs that allow me to breathe, a heart that pumps blood through me, limbs I use to move and act with, and most importantly, a brain to let me experience it all. Consciousness is a natural gift of vast wonder. For that, I am so glad.
I am the luckiest human being to have realized that our lives are rare. It sounds so simple, but I feel it. I have said it before and I’ll say it again:
There is beauty in brevity. When I’m to die someday like those before me, I will be recycled into this universe from which I arose.
You are just a shell that arrived before me on starlit nights,
tattered and torn by the waves that brought you.
We were like the high tide:
violent, powerful, and crashing.
We were the moon:
always amplifying itself or waning into less.
We were an exploding star:
a gorgeous sight to witness
but something nearing an end.
And I do not burn for you anymore.
I threw you back.
|—||Alan Watts. Philosopher (via purplebuddhaproject)|