Z is for Zeal

REBLOGGGGG!!! #BRINGMYONNAHOME!!!

domogoodie2shoes:

I don’t know this beautiful baby girl, nor do I know her family. I happened to come across this on twitter. I decided to make a tumblr post because the word NEEDS to get out about this in every possible way. If you see or hear anything you can reach her sister at the following places. 

TUMBLR: http://fashionmoneydrugslove.tumblr.com/

TWITTER: @TeeHickeyyy

REBLOG THIS POST AND HELP THIS BEAUTIFUL CHILD RETURN TO HER HOME!

(Source: jamaicanbarbies, via realityiswrong)

On We Go

It will be summer again some other day. The Irish dairy farmer with the scruff around his mouth, like a picture frame encompassing his lips, stands barefoot in the green grass as the ardent sun, at its zenith, beats down between his shoulders as if he were a djembe drum. His eyes are closed tightly just as they usually are during those quiet moments of deep thought and prayer. As the sun warms him, he gives thanks to it and the sweat that it brings. A large dog stands promptly by his side, the man’s fingers running back and forth over the crown of the animals head. He is wearing denim overalls with the grass stains on them. He wears them as he plows and partakes in his morning and evening milking. At the end of the day, he soaks them in the creek behind his home, whose waters he has learned so much from. The overalls are with him as he hangs them outside on a thin clothesline along with his plain coat and high socks, leaving it to flutter, free flowing, in the evening wind. As he showers, ridding his being of the stress and anxiety brought on by the day, you will find these overalls hanging on the opposite side of the bathroom door, reeking of silage bins and cow teats and diesel fuel. He wears this familiar uniform when preparing coddle stew or whilst drinking homemade Irish barmbrack while Dylan’s croaked voice echoes from the record player. Its home atop the wooden mantle that is propped directly above his favorite chair so that as he sits, the words in the songs he loves swing down, landing on top of his head and dance a celebratory dance in a circle atop his matted gray hair. He has endured many hardships while wearing these overalls. They know him well. He wears those overalls, soft and comfortable, oversized and relaxing, when a memory of his mother is playing back in his mind. When the branches on the trees hang lower than usual because of the heavy snow. When he feels it’s time to sit down, stand up, or cry. He issues love into every stitch of its fabric and feels that same love emanating back. He wouldn’t contemplate trading it for the world’s finest satins and silks.  His denim, grass stained overalls hang off his shoulders and body, suggesting that they are not quite his size but fit him in other ways most wouldn’t understand.

This is the desk that I sit at

and the computer that I type at

Each click click clack

fingers salute

on a mystical train inside my head

where I think about yesterday

the day of forgetting

My grandmother in a dream told me once

something about finding your realm

some sort of collectiveness

something about balance

I know what it is now that calms me

caitsmeissner:

I am truly, entirely captivated and moved by a novel long prescribed to me by various word-hungry friends. The Unbearable Lightness of Being. Quoting is futile, for in each short chapter the language rolls over itself like waves, these sweeps of beauty and sadness and questions and philosophy. It is the first time in a long time I cannot put a book down. I have longed for this feeling again. Thank you.

 Have you by any chance seen the movie?