this week’s Thought (singular)
time simply does not exist on a sunday morning
a very warm welcome to all new readers. i love new readers so much that whenever i get an email about a new reader, i manifest that they stop procrastinating the thing that they’ve been procrastinating for two weeks. thank you for joining us. may you be able to muster up the readiness to arrange your shelf in a burst of productivity that lasts >3hrs today.
hi
the other day, i came across such a lovely phrase that was something along the lines of ‘…carrying your heart within my heart’. it got me thinking about being a container for love, for gratitude, for friendship, and how lovely a concept that is.
the idea of friendship being a journey where you carry my heart in yours, of being a box for love that ebbs and flows - the imagery is lovely, and the theory of the thing is beautifully liberating. it takes away the painful effort and desperate clawing for approval, the perpetual hang-ups in relationships, and makes me feel like a detached person from the entire thing - just a person who feels, not a person who sweats through the participation.
this sounds suspiciously like shirking responsibility, i know, but i just think it’s a gentler way of looking. i keep the container in my heart filled with the hearts of all my loved ones. i don’t think it’s shirking to keep them safe there, simply by letting them be. i think it’s perfectly lovely, and feel so very secure knowing that my friends are holding my heart in theirs too.
on a broader level, to be a container for love is also perfectly lovely, i think. just the idea of being truly open to receive joy and positivity is such a powerful concept, such a wholesome thought. i’d like to leave you with this excerpt from an Dog in Bed by Joyce Sidman. i especially adore the part about love being invited.
This is how it is with love. Once invited, it steps in gently, circles twice, and takes up as much space as you will give it.
read the full poem here.
In Case You Missed It
The Good Side of the Internet is getting a monthly spinoff! you can learn more about it here. remember to subscribe and tell your friends.
coming to your inbox for the very first time next week :DEnglish Recitation Competition
Such Beauty from Ashes, Carolyn Marie Rodgers
and we are singing our hearts out, and our souls are in our eyes, and they are beautiful souls. they are souls of truth. they are souls of love. they are souls of faith. they are souls of hope. and we have conquered a little corner in the world of fear.
The moon Was an old, old woman, tonight, Hurrying home; Calling pitifully to her children, The stars, Begging them to go home with her For she was afraid, But they would not.
In the morning, but some time before the sun, a bird would sing, then another. They all move to the highest branch. They make a chorus. Locating one another. A leaf sways in the first light. Many leaves, suspended, without contracting a single muscle. They are like birds. I was happy. I had survived. I was young.
The Good Side of the Internet
The Untold Story of the Insular Texas Family That Invaded the U.S. Capitol
The Munns became a national curiosity after five of them were indicted for participating in the insurrection. But the full scope of their malignant behavior is little known—including to the federal prosecutors tasked with investigating their crimes.
Fatherhood, cancer, and what matters most
Grand Unified Theory of Female Pain
The pain of women turns them into kittens and rabbits and sunsets and sordid red satin goddesses, pales them and bloodies them and starves them, delivers them to death camps and sends locks of their hair to the stars. Men put them on trains and under them. Violence turns them celestial. Age turns them old. We can’t look away. We can’t stop imagining new ways for them to hurt.Â
Mental illness remains shadowy and indistinct. This makes it ripe for metaphor.
20 days in Mariupol: The team that documented city’s agony
The Russians were hunting us down. They had a list of names, including ours, and they were closing in.
We were the only international journalists left in the Ukrainian city of Mariupol, and we had been documenting its siege by Russian troops for more than two weeks. We were reporting inside the hospital when gunmen began stalking the corridors. Surgeons gave us white scrubs to wear as camouflage.
A Picture!
this week’s Song
In Dino by Pritam from Life In A Metro
find all shared songs here.
thank you for reading, and see you next week <3
yes? no? maybe? let me know!
thank you for the courage ! lovely read. gonna try and work on my dissertation today