(Source: jocalder0ne)

vela:

While it is certainly true that a hopeless or pessimistic outlook on life, repressed psychological conflicts and tensions do result in organic pathology, and that positive imaging helps in restoring as well as maintaining health, it is equally true that no one alive can wholly avoid tension, stress, conflict, repressions, depression and disappointment. Indeed, psychological complexes and crises are the building stones of personality. Frustration and repression are the unavoidable conditions of ego-building no less than approval, success, satisfaction and joy. The capacity to become ill seems to be built into the ground plan of human nature regardless of mental efforts to the contrary.

Morever, we are not merely free-floating minds but minds embodied. A genuinely holistic viewpoint cannot but see the body as the visibility of the mind and the mind as the expression of the particular individual self’s way of embodiment. Just as our psyches are open to and indeed participate in the energy patterns that surround us, so our bodies interact with substance and are parts of earth processes and nature. And nature is not only kind and life-supporting; it is also destructive and terrible. Natural living does not guarantee health. Indeed, a perfectly natural way of living would amount to a return to savagery. Primitive man also knew illness. Civilization undoubtedly produces its own pathology but natural primitivism does also. Whichever way we turn we cannot avoid crisis, pain and disease. The tendency to illness appears to be an aspect of the earth dynamic, as is healing. They are the two sides of the same coin.

(Strangely, I picked this book up on my birthday Wednesday and thought about it most of my drive home on Friday.)

readytobebarbie:

I want this tattoo!!

another-littlegirl:

this is me to a T

(Source: sapphosghost)

(Source: xemxija)

ryan-wheaton:

Taken with instagram

(Source: theblackworkshop)

jackrusher:

The beginning was so long ago, so far away, and so awful that I’ll leave it out of the story altogether. The middle would take too long to tell, and besides that it’s too complicated for me to get it right. The end is where we’ll begin.

Twelve years rotting in Chateau D’If. Four years staggering through the deserts of North Africa. Two musket balls I had to dig out of my own flesh, and more knife scars than I can count.

Gypsy roving, marauding, spending my days as a balladeer, a duelist, a boxer, and every other trade that kept my feet on the road and didn’t ask me to be another man’s property.

Finally, here and now, at the end of it all, I’ve found the X that marks the spot on this treasure map. On my hands and knees, throwing aside a lifetime’s dignity, I dig.

I dig first with a shovel until the hole is too deep, then with my knife until it breaks against a stone, then with my hands — would use my teeth if need be — to get to the locked box beneath the soil, pry apart its wooden lid and lift from it the promise that kept me alive for all these years: your shining golden heart.

IMAGE: Peasant Digging, Van Gogh, 1885.

Jack Rusher, thank you for January.

Because of you, it was warmer than December.

thenerdyflirt:

danyellala:

ashpocalypse:

oh-rebecca:

EVERYONE HAS TO WATCH THIS RIGHT NOW. EVERYONE. 

She is seriously the cutest person ever. This is hilarious.

The best.

This is wonderful you must watch this!

benjaminpalmer:

Flying People in New York City (by ChronicleNYC)

(Source: worn-in-perfection)