🙏🏼🙏🏼

losing 2 dogs in 2 weeks is really rough 😞

Lost my beautiful, sweet, loving Luna this morning. Also to cancer. I am distraught. I'm going to miss her so much 🐾🤍

I have just the article for you: www.asimov.press/p/black-death

fuck i love the internet

yes. i recently read this similar testimony written by @mgasia.bsky.social data-workers.org/michael/

many times when i'm sitting around looking aimless, i'm simply sitting by a waterfall in my garden, watching a magnificent sunset.

there have been many occasions where i've been accused of staring at people unpleasantly. i apologise because
i'm caught off guard but sometimes i'll also explain that i wasn't staring at them and/or that i wasn't particularly looking *at* anything—my mind is elsewhere.

often there is a physical manifestation of what's going in my mind in my facial expressions. my resting bitch face, for example, imo occurs at the above times, i.e. when i'm tending to a struggling thought flower.

sometimes i'll watch a thought flower struggle to grow and i'll tend to it, nurture it with nutrients and minerals—good deeds and kindness—and watch it flourish.

be patient toward the mysteries still unsolved within your heart, for every verse yet written holds the secret of your unfolding life.

allow your imperfect, messy being the freedom to simply exist—breathing, trembling, and gradually unfolding into its own quiet magnificence.

'you owe no one an act of heroism,' Tagore might say, urging us to honor our authentic selves rather than a pretense of perpetual goodness. there’s no debt to the person you once were. instead, offer only honesty to yourself.

when we let go of an outdated self, the breaking is not a loss but a delicate invitation—a scar through which healing, truth, and new possibility emerge.

Rabindranath Tagore’s poetry often reveals that our deepest hurts are not signs of ruin but openings for luminous truth. in the spirit of his verse, consider that every fracture of the soul is a place where light enters.

sometimes, becoming isn’t a grand act of defiance; it is the quiet courage of sitting in darkness, trusting that—even when the light is hidden—the inevitable dawn is already on its way.

poet Agha Shahid Ali reminds us that change, however silent, is a constant rebirth. in his gentle reflections, we learn that 'each silence harbors both sorrow and wonder.'