The best medicine

You will name this picture and that will be the revival of the colors. Our deep thoughts are just the paints until we confess them aloud. The word makes the love the tangible and love changes our hearts – even the dirt glistens underfoot then.

THANK YOU for your comments. The word of mouth is the best medicine.

The flowers are in need of warmth

The flowers are in need of warmth…. All I could to do was the putting of my vase on the gas-cooker. The Dark clouds became the white – the love fueled the beauty and the heart blossomed with the gratitude

ponder on remnants

“God, give me grace to accept with serenity the things I cannot change,
courage to change the things I can, and wisdom to know the difference.”— Reinhold Niebuhr

We have heard lots of nice words that uplift the soul and encourage, but are they not just a self deception? I just have read the quote:

All artists are vain, they long to be recognized and to leave something to posterity. They want to be loved, and at the same time they want to be free. But nobody is free.
::: Francis Bacon :::

While growth of costs for the living threatens people, the art halls sink in the solitude.

Let’s recall  George Bernard Shaw. He said:

“We don’t stop playing because we grow old; we grow old because we stop playing.”

words put of despair

 

Eating together is lovely. That inspires desire to cook and gives the life the beauty – the purpose ans the sense of fulfillments. But everything looks otherwise while reading. The best poetry becomes just the words in case there are nobody to listen to them. Art is dead without the sharing and so are our blogs without comments. Speaking with oneself may look wise, but that’s the most futile activity. I prefer to be the fool, but be surrounded by lots of friends than to share the profitable insights that nobody will hear.

Just think about a trip. Typically we have nothing of our wealth then, but are lacking nothing then and our eyes are widely open on the trip – we few not the strangers then, but people wjo may become our friends – who may become what they are in essence – our fellows.

going from point “A” to point “W” isn’t any trip at all. That’s just boredom duty to move. Trip is the way of life. That’s the road where nobody knows what is awaiting us under the corner. That’s what makes the life the precious.

The Silence is the killing while siting in the room and questioning the speechless walls. People inescapably communicate till coming to the cemetery where all inscriptions just demand taking of the caps and need no other comments.

brushup

it was cold, but my breathing became visible