From Shakespeare's As You Like It: "I do desire we may be better strangers."

"If while washing dishes, we think only of the cup of tea that awaits us, thus hurrying to get the dishes out of the way as if they were a nuisance, then we are not “washing the dishes to wash the dishes.” What’s more, we are not alive during the time we are washing the dishes. In fact we are completely incapable of realizing the miracle of life while standing at the sink. If we can’t wash the dishes, the chances are we won’t be able to drink our tea either. While drinking the cup of tea, we will only be thinking of other things, barely aware of the cup in our hands. Thus we are sucked away into the future—and we are incapable of actually living one minute of life." ~Thich Nhat Hanh (Book: The Miracle of Mindfulness (Art: Painting by Anna Ancher)

"Take a moment to notice which nostril feels more open right now. One side will usually be clearer while the other might feel a bit blocked. When your left nostril is more open, your body is in a calmer, rest and digest state. When your right nostril is more open, you’re in a more alert or active state. This naturally shifts every couple of hours in what’s called the nasal cycle, where we tend to breathe about 75% through one nostril and 25% through the other. This cycle is controlled by your autonomic nervous system, helping your body stay balanced without you even realizing it." -Anthony Goldsmith #bodywisdom

"Beneath the root and rib of the world, where worms write scripture in loam and stones remember the sea, there is a hum older than language. I have heard it in the bone-dark, a low hymn rising through my body, the chthonic breath woven through the underbody of the world, moving through soil, shadow and the soft rot of becoming. The gods there, wear mud for skin, their breath the rhythm of life and death, their hands braiding beginnings and endings together beneath us; turning dark to bloom, silence to breath, rot to womb. I’m drawn to that darkness, to the tender mouths of fungi translating the dead into nourishment, to the roots whispering in green tongues through the damp corridors of decay. This underworld is not hell, but humus: the warm, breathing dark from which all things rise. And somewhere in that dark, I feel myself, made of its chthonic under-song, a creature stitched from seed and compost, learning again and again how to belong to the dark that midwives the seed." #potry #art ——— • WORDS Brigit Anna McNeill • • ART Ruth Evans •

Credit: Gardening Hacks (Facebook)

Vegetable Garden Blog

Try Simmering 10 Sprigs of Rosemary and Enjoy the Amazing Benefits That Follow

In a world filled with synthetic scents and store-bought wellness products, the humble herb rosemary offers an astonishing array of natural health ...