Jules of Nature

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if i look back, i am lost

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@kathrrinka

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26 February 2019
I had a breakdown today. Actually, it was more of a crackdown- not as showy or dramatic, and composed of little things that gradually piled up and piled up and grew larger and larger until- goodbye peace of mind.
The little things are the decisions that have lead me here- in a dorm room in college with my major requirements before me on my computer. Here, in a room that I want so desperately to be silent but whose walls are thin enough that I can hear my neighbors doing god knows what with god knows whom. In friendships that seem to be chipping away at my remaining energy, at my precious time, unreliable souls demanding reliability and loyalty of me.
And I gathered myself together, drank some water, did some homework, cried a little more in a dirty dorm shower, and then rested.
My resolve from this day onward?
To get over my fear that all is useless, that the path that Iâm following with every ounce of my energy goes all the way to nothing.
How?
To realize that the energy that I use is never truly wasted. Science upholds that energy can neither be created nor destroyed; rather, it can only be transformed or transferred from one form to another. Life is cyclical, and if I input energy into something or someone, that energy will return to me as I journey down the unknown path of human existence.
Î U= Q â W.
Waterhouse. The Lady of Shalott (1888)
 And down the riverâs dim expanse Like some bold seer in a trance, Seeing all his own mischance â With glassy countenance Did she look to Camelot. And at the closing of the day She loosed the chain, and down she lay; The broad stream bore her far away, The Lady of Shalott.
-Lord Alfred Tennyson, The Lady of Shalott (1842)
mon amour,
You know what Iâm about to say.
You see it every day when our eyes meet and smiles form.
Itâs not a surprise. We both know
That Iâm the least subtle of living and loving humanity.
Weâre not really showy lovers,
Not part of the exuberant world of pda and sloppy kisses.
Our love is veiled with privacy,
Hidden behind glazed mirrors, and opaque bath curtains.
But itâs not because of shame
Or a Victorian sense of propriety, but because we have
Here together a complete life, without the need to slap
Our life-love in peopleâs faces.
Knowing you is such a blessing, an undeniable gift.
Knowing you isnât stagnant,
Isnât a blocked, musty pond, but an ever-flowing river
Headed to the unknown future.
Itâs an adventure, a story in progress, music moving
Toward the resolving chord.
Knowing you, loving you, is such a great experience.
-inspired by @tranquilsuggestion , her words in bold

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Remember that one day we were in the biology lecture room, studying about adaptive evolution, and all of a sudden a picture of the dodo bird (Fig.1), in all of its extinct glory, showed on the PowerPoint. It was a sort of warning, an anti-adaptive evolution, since instead of developing the power of flight, it lost it. Since there was a steady supply of food, and a relative absence of predators, Nature decided that the dodoâs wings were now only decorative.Â
In the absence of danger and challenges, the living world is wired to become lax, to become complacent. So when true challenges come, like humans hunting for anything and everything, the next chapter in the story is extinction.Â
Maybe thatâs why, after the honeymoon period, relationships fall apart.Â
Because weâre so used to calm skies and clear starry nights guiding us home, we canât weather the storm.Â
But what do I know? What do you know?
Will we ever know before itâs too late?Â
The line between the last of its kind and extinction is written in the shifting sands of time.
1 & 2 by redscorpius
and from the heavens drops down a glimmering gift, embodied in your humanity. maybe thatâs why when i look at you all i can think of is divinity
-from the heavens to earth and back again
Starlight glimmers along fresh tear tracks,
Along concrete highways and beer cans.
Yet bounces between my smile and hers,
Always pointing out the little perfections
Brought out by laughter and pointed wit.
It has followed us throughout the storyÂ
A long story of a little life, softly lived,
Aching and loving and hating and hoping
But always gazing upwards for direction
From those steadfast stars sweetly guiding us,
Tired wanderers, yearning wonderers, home.
Quickly tearing off my bandage can eitherÂ
Make the wound under bleed, restarting healing
Or reveal a pink, healing scab, a sin resolved
Proof of problems acknowledged and solved
In this case, I have no second thoughts
The temporary fix has been on too long
And I care too much for my own sanity Â
To sacrifice myself out of magnanimity.
You can rant and rave and seethe and swear
But here I am, as both immovable object and
Unstoppable force, declaring the end of hurt
That is the cherry gracing our love inert.
And here, at the end of a painful era,
I remove a bandage so I can truly heal.
Goodbye, my one-time secret-keeper
And dream-sharer turned peace-eraser
Hi there fellow Kate! I stumbled across your blog because you reblogged one of my little pieces (thank you so much for that, by the way!), and saw that you read tarot. Could I please have a general (energy?) (whatever I'm doing in my life?) reading? Thanks again!
sure thing @kathrrinka :)
ten of pentacles: this card discusses prosperity in every aspect of your life. nothing but happiness and satisfaction! This card also signifies the ending of a part/cycle in your life.
reversed queen of pentacles: presenting itself as your inner voice card, this card discusses caring and nurturing for yourself. yes, itâs important to take care of your loved ones, but donât forget about you! maybe if you arenât feeling 100% happy with life this is the path you have to take to get to the goal in the first card?
thank you!
thank you so much! one of the biggest things I have trouble finding is the line between helping my friends and letting me devote everything to them to my own detriment. that lineâs being in drawn in 2019!

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9 February 2019
Today was a day of summer bursting through the dead of winter. It was one of those ridiculously perfect clichĂŠs of a day, one that you see in those teenage dramas, with an annoyingly catchy pop song playing in the background. There was a shopping trip involved, a blur only set apart by queuing for the fitting rooms and payment, and waiting for that impossibly long receipt to print, and that overpriced frappuccino to be made.Â
If it was a drug, it would be pain-killers. Something that gives you a reprieve for a few short moments, only to return the pain twofold if you donât take it again.
If it was a drink, it would be bubbly sweet pink champagne. Something you raise high in the air in celebration, and that, all too soon, turns flat or is consumed.Â
Itâs like your bank account- you try to get that six-figure balance only to deplete it on days like this. Today was the opposite of 0 to a 100 real quick.
Save, spend, rinse, repeat.Â
Is this human existence?
You laugh a little, as if you havenât thrown down a gauntlet,
Challenging not me, but Fate and Fortune and the specialistÂ
That told you that the reason for your pain was cancerâs visit.
I crack a joke, something about giving you my hairÂ
(shiny black, straight as a ruler)
If science decides that yours (blonde, curly) must be sacrificed.Â
We both know that the reason weâre being humorousÂ
Is that if we stop, if we truly stop and become quiet and think,
Saltwater, like the ocean we visited last week, would flow.
So we smile and make molehills out of mountains.
-the moment that robbed time for poetry is also the inspiration for it
Often realization comes to us slowly, like the first chill of winter that makes autumn winds bite a little bit more and more until frost covers the earth with a protecting sheen.
Just as Rome wasnât built in a day, so our love wasnât realized overnight. No; that happens in movies and in soulmate fanfictions, not in our human existence. We have to muddle through the murky byways of Fate and Fortune until we find each other and our paths beyond the bog.Â
We donât have our lives written out for us, don't have showy bursts of fireworks when we understand ourselves and each other. We reveal our knowledge in quiet smiles, in breaths held when you do something so utterly human itâs divine.Â
The evolution of our love wasnât written in the stars. The distant stars have no part in the human journey of choices and hopes and dreams. We write our story ourselves, with each step that we take together in this earthly maze, this selva oscura chĂŠ la diritta via era smarrita.
My love, do you remember some lives ago
When we first met underneath Doric columns
And you saw the sun, you lover of Apollo,
Rise up from behind the rocky hills.
Do you remember what you told me?
I saw your hair glow, gold-gilt, andÂ
That was the first time I thought you to beÂ
Sun-god of my blasphemous drunk mind,
And I wanted to fall on my knees and worship.
And you said: we were written.
I asked you where, because I am a child
Of Selene, of cool light of darkness, while
You are fiery-red burning brandishing light
Of the noon sun and the heat of the desert.
Written in the sunrise, you explained.
You said you were the mouth of Apollo,
That our lives were entwined like the sea
And the sandy shore, and that sunrise wasÂ
Where calm night and busy day met.
I remember your lips on mine.
A detailed case for dog-ownership
Wet noses nudging when emotions unhinge
And tails happily wagging hello, welcome home
Little yaps when tummy rubs commence,Â
And not so silent snores during sofa naps.
Coming back to an empty apartment- no more:
Now there are ever-present toys in the kitchen,
And a little doggo running for all the hugs,
Or a treat, or both glorious, amazing things.
Itâs a gift, the sheer warmth a pet brings.

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In a relaxed manner, admirable flakes drip from the sky.
The quest of establishment begins.
Accumulation seeking destination;
A landing where every delicate crystal shall lay.
Entirety of completion-
this fallin snow becomes exquisite beauty.
Just as your poetry.
A wonderland for the mindâ
Enticing to the eyesâ
Enlightening my soul.
Merry Christmas to you @kathrrinka
R.A.
Secret Santa
Thank you very much, I love it! I am so thankful that my thoughts and words have inspired you as yours have inspired me. Merry Christmas! May it be wondrous
You write poetry so well. Mine isn't as good as yours. I hope you like your Christmas poem anyway. -- secret Santa
Thank you so much! And please know that your poetry is beautiful because itâs uniquely yours. no one can write poetry exactly like you, and thatâs the glory of it all.
Love,Â
KateÂ