Morning Trip (349)

“The miracle is not to walk on water. The miracle is to walk on the green Earth in the present moment, to appreciate the peace and beauty that are available now.”
—-Thich Nhat Hahn

Morning Trip (231)

“Transcendence or detachment, leaving the body, pure love, lack of jealousy–that’s the vision we are given in our culture, generally, when we thing of the highest thing…Another way to look at it is that the aim of the person is not to be detached, but to be more attached–to be attached to working; to be attached to making chairs or something that helps everyone; to be attached to beauty, to be attached to music.”
–Robert Bly

Morning Trip (136)

“…Beauty is subversive. Why? Because it is powerful. It’s powerful because it makes us dream. It makes us think. It makes us imagine a world that’s bigger than the one we know and one that’s worth taking a risk for. Even in a brutal world, beauty exists and its power leads us to hope, faith, and love.

Beauty inspires. It’s as simple as that.”

–The Words of Michael Fryer, guest contributor On Being

Morning Trip (115)

“Perception of the beautiful is accompanied by that curious feeling of intellectual fullness through which we seem to be swollen with a superior knowledge of the object contemplated, and which nevertheless leaves us powerless to express it and to possess it by our ideas and make it the object of scientific analysis.”
–Jacques Maritain, Art and Scholasticism
Translated by J.W. Evans

Read the remainder of the text here: Jacques Maritain Center

Morning Trip (103)

The Poet with His Face in His Hands
You want to cry aloud for your
mistakes. But to tell the truth the world
doesn’t need anymore of that sound.

So if you’re going to do it and can’t
stop yourself, if your pretty mouth can’t
hold it in, at least go by yourself across

the forty fields and the forty dark inclines
of rocks and water to the place where
the falls are flinging out their white sheets

like crazy, and there is a cave behind all that
jubilation and water fun and you can
stand there, under it, and roar all you

want and nothing will be disturbed; you can
drip with despair all afternoon and still,
on a green branch, its wings just lightly touched

by the passing foil of the water, the thrush,
puffing out its spotted breast, will sing
of the perfect, stone-hard beauty of everything.”
–Mary Oliver