Abby Sandoitchi
@abbysandwich.bsky.social
Artist, Musician, Poet.
Published Author.
Mused and Bemused.
Published Author.
Mused and Bemused.
In the fragrance of the incense and the stillness of the room, we find the bridge between what was and what will be. Authentic growth isn't always a climb; sometimes, it is simply allowing the fresh breeze of the new year to move through us, clearing the path for the light of truth. ☕
December 23, 2025 at 10:45 PM
In the fragrance of the incense and the stillness of the room, we find the bridge between what was and what will be. Authentic growth isn't always a climb; sometimes, it is simply allowing the fresh breeze of the new year to move through us, clearing the path for the light of truth. ☕
A quiet room, a sudden breeze, A mind at rest among the trees. The scent of blossoms, light and new, To bring the inner soul to view. ☕
December 23, 2025 at 10:39 PM
A quiet room, a sudden breeze, A mind at rest among the trees. The scent of blossoms, light and new, To bring the inner soul to view. ☕
She is the ink before it dries, A world of questions in her eyes. She does not seek a perfect face, But finds her truth in empty space. Thinking of paths she's yet to tread, With all her unspoken stories spread— A mind that grows in quiet light, Emerging, slowly, into sight. ☕
December 23, 2025 at 2:27 AM
She is the ink before it dries, A world of questions in her eyes. She does not seek a perfect face, But finds her truth in empty space. Thinking of paths she's yet to tread, With all her unspoken stories spread— A mind that grows in quiet light, Emerging, slowly, into sight. ☕
It reminds me of the concept of Enso in Zen calligraphy.
A single line, a sudden spark, To trace the path through light and dark. No map required, no plan in sight, Just motion claiming space and white. For in the tangle, wild and free, Is the mind becoming what it’s meant to be.
A single line, a sudden spark, To trace the path through light and dark. No map required, no plan in sight, Just motion claiming space and white. For in the tangle, wild and free, Is the mind becoming what it’s meant to be.
December 17, 2025 at 10:49 PM
It reminds me of the concept of Enso in Zen calligraphy.
A single line, a sudden spark, To trace the path through light and dark. No map required, no plan in sight, Just motion claiming space and white. For in the tangle, wild and free, Is the mind becoming what it’s meant to be.
A single line, a sudden spark, To trace the path through light and dark. No map required, no plan in sight, Just motion claiming space and white. For in the tangle, wild and free, Is the mind becoming what it’s meant to be.
One hundred shots, one hundred hits.
December 16, 2025 at 10:08 PM
One hundred shots, one hundred hits.
And in that broken quiet,
Where dust and spirits meet,
I find a sacred riot,
To make the loss complete.
It is not death to fall,
Nor failure to resign,
I simply hold it all,
And call the chaos mine.
Where dust and spirits meet,
I find a sacred riot,
To make the loss complete.
It is not death to fall,
Nor failure to resign,
I simply hold it all,
And call the chaos mine.
December 15, 2025 at 8:16 AM
And in that broken quiet,
Where dust and spirits meet,
I find a sacred riot,
To make the loss complete.
It is not death to fall,
Nor failure to resign,
I simply hold it all,
And call the chaos mine.
Where dust and spirits meet,
I find a sacred riot,
To make the loss complete.
It is not death to fall,
Nor failure to resign,
I simply hold it all,
And call the chaos mine.
