Songs to start the day - 'Debaser' by Pixies

I have adored Pixies for a long time now and on some mornings, you just feel like you want to take the world apart a bit.
Those are the mornings that scream for ‘Debaser’!

The lyrics were inspired by the 1929 surrealist Salvador Dalí / Luis Buñuel.l film “Un Chien Andalou”, in which a lot of very disturbing shit happens and the whole silent journey starts off with, well…a woman’s eyeball that is sliced open by a razor.
My advice is to not have a look at that, as you won’t be able to forget about it EVER…
Instead, have a listen to the mindblowing Kim Deal opening with a throbbing bass solo, loud/soft dynamics that provide wicked goosebumps, Frank Black howling like crazy to perfectly noisy guitar sound and start your day off just RIGHT.
What a rush…click to listen here:

Thumbnail Photograph: Pixies photographed at Pinkpop Festival on May 15, 1989, by Gie Knaeps/Getty Images


The sea above

Photographer, filmmaker and stormchaser Mike Olbinski has been obsessed with weather since he was a little kid, growing up in Arizona.
When Mike was taking pictures of a fading storm in North Dakota two years ago, the clouds suddenly started to take on a very different and curvy appearance.
These formations in the sky that resemble rippling waves, are so called Asperitas (or undulatus asperatus ) Clouds, which are not only rare, but also the newest addition to the International Cloud Atlas (which has been around since 1896).

“ We had a storm with hail in front of us and flashing lightning which was fantastic.
But then we had this layer of undulatus clouds flowing across our view. Watching them was amazing already, but then the sun slowly appeared from behind some clouds to the west and lit up our storm like nothing we’ve ever seen before.
We were like kids in a candy store. […]
The colors here are real. I only increased the contrast. In fact, I was thinking of actually REDUCING the saturation because of how intense the colors looked with the contrast added. But that's how it was and I left it that way.
Six of us were there and all our photo and videos look the same.
This was undoubtedly one of the most incredible scenes I've witnessed chasing storms for the past 8 years. “
- Mike Oblinski

SIt back and have a look at this mesmerising footage, it’s like watching the sea surface from below…in Cotton Candy Land.

Check out more of Mike’s magical time-lapse footage on his website:


Tell us who you are and what you do?
Heyhey! My name is Esther and I create companions from precious metals, sometimes with a gemstone or two.
I love making friends for your hands and seeing how their characters form as they leave my fingers.
Sometimes my pieces speak to others, who want to give them a new home and make them a longer story.
This to me, feels like magic.
I make and live in Utrecht, the Netherlands.

What are some of your major goals for 2019?
Both personally and professionally? 
2018 felt like a very transformative year, in which I had to let go of a few dreams and break my heart open to others.
Curiosity turned out to be my best guide through this process and my goal is to remain curious- as I found that it often leads me to inspiration and joy.
Also, we have to leave our beautiful studio in the historical centre of Utrecht this year. I’m very attached to the another aim is for me to try and let go gracefully while also opening up to the new.
On a lighter note- I definitely want to dance more this year!

How do you plan to accomplish them? Do you have any methods / techniques? 
In regards to the dancing- I make seasonal playlists of songs that mean something to me. These lists become little timecapsules that can spark unexpected memories when revisited.
Bed Early- a real challenge, but if I manage to put my inner night owl underneath blankets before 10.30PM, fog clears from my mind.
Keep my eyes peeled and listen closely for whispers- as the muse rarely speaks loudly.
More breathing, less judging.

What is in your Spiritual Toolkit? 
Palo Santo- a scent I connect with safety, space, creativity and reverence 
Journaling- reserving a daily moment to pay attention (and say thanks) to what inspired, moved or made me wonder me that day.
Sistermuses- there are a few special women in my life that are full of wisdom, honesty and humour. They shimmer with a light that warms, guides and reveals.
A notebook and my favourite fineliner: somehow my first ideas flow best in black ink. I tend to capture on paper quickly, to later sculpt and carve in jewellers wax slowly.

If you believed in past lives what do you think you were or who? 
My instincts on this are fuzzy. 
Instead, I’d like to share part of a poem from “The great Enigma” by Tomas Tranströmer that resonates with me:

“Sometimes an abyss opens between Tuesday and Wednesday but twenty-six years could pass in a moment. 
Time is not a straight line, it’s more of a labyrinth, and if you press close to the wall at the right place you can hear the hurrying steps and the voices, you can hear yourself walking past on the other side.“

It calms me to consider perceiving the dimension of time not as a series of beginnings and endings, but as an ever ongoing middle. 

How do you recommend people breaking into the media industry these days? 
I don’t know much about these things unfortunately, but did enjoy reading the “Rules for Online Sanity” by Kai Brach and the following advice:
Create the kind of communities and ideas you want people to talk about.

What I enjoy most about (social) media, are the moments of authentic connection. I like to get personal and appreciate others being personal as well. It’s hard to find nuance online, but I think the aim can be to remain kind and honest.

Is their anything you are currently obsessed with? 
I have a growing obsession with the colour Blue-
the colour of distance and depth
the colour of longing and melancholy
the colour of calm and clarity
My love for Blue is growing deeper the older I get and gets strengthened by the wisdom of sublime writers like Rebecca Solnit and Maggie Nelson.
If you are open to some azure amour, I really encourage you to read
“A field guide to getting lost” or “Bluets”

Other current obsessions, infatuations and inspirations: 
The intimate wisdom and brutal tenderness of how Nick Cave shares and answers in His Red Hand Files

The mind-boggling beautiful and extraordinary art that Paolo del Toro creates:

Last year, I discovered Joanna Macy’s translations of Rainer Maria Rilke’s work. It was exciting, healing and deeply hopeful and I've been sharing her interview with Krista Tippett wildly, ever since:

I find daily inspiration through the amazing curators at:
Also- please come back, POME (thank you Matthew Ogle!)

The Van Gogh Museum made a Podcast, where fragments of Vincent’s letters are shared and mused on by Dutch makers. I loved this series and am still hoping for many more:
Sadly, the recordings are in Dutch only, but van Gogh's letters can also be found here:

I’m still so sad that Mary Oliver passed away.
Rereading many of her sensitive writings that touch on connectivity however, filled me with inspiration for the new year and how I would like to keep approaching my work. 
Through the soft animal of my body.


Friends for your Hands

Friends for your Hands

Utrecht Studio

Utrecht Studio

Spiritual Toolkit

Spiritual Toolkit



Paolo del Toro

Paolo del Toro

Mary Oliver_Wild Geese

The bees of Notre Dame

Around 180.00 bees have been living in three hives on the roof of Notre Dame, since 2013.
They are “Brother Adam” (Buckfast) Bees, a variety which is known for their hard work and for being very gentle, at any time of the day and in any weather.
These wee furry fellows have been pollinating all around Paris and produce around 25 kilos of honey each year!

When disaster struck this April, and the cathedral was in flames, it was feared that the colony couldn’t possibly survive.
But against all odds, the wax didn’t melt, which could have glued the little bees together and trapped them inside. The smoke didn’t impress them much, the bees have no lungs and the CO2 just makes them a bit tipsy and sleepy. And the water? It didn’t even touch them.

It’s a small miracle that these little creatures made it through the inferno and it’s one that makes me smile.
Keep on buzzing, little brothers!


Pictures by:
Dmitry Kostyukov /The New York Times, Philippe Wojazer / Reuters, Virginie Clavieres / CNN and Philippe Wang/Getty Images

Telephone of the wind

Here’s a word. Bereavement. Or, Bereaved. Bereft. 
It’s from the Old English bereafian, meaning ‘to deprive of, take away, seize, rob’. 
Robbed. Seized. It happens to everyone.
But you feel it alone.
Shocking loss isn’t to be shared, no matter how hard you try.
- from ‘H is for Hawk’ by Helen Macdonald

Where do we go, to connect with those we have lost?

The Japanese Garden Designer Itaru Sasaki, lost his beloved cousin in 2010. While longing for a way to remain connected to him in a time of deep grieving, he bought an old- fashioned, green- roofed, glass- paneled telephone booth and put it in his garden.
As he was unable to figure out how to speak about his feelings, or to whom, he spoke about them through this telephone. 
In doing so, Mister Sasaki was hoping for the wind to carry his words to his cousin, and he named it “Kaze no Denwa”- Telephone of the Wind.

Only one year later, Japan was struck with threefold disaster: an earthquake that created a tsunami, which then caused a nuclear meltdown. Approximately 20.000 Japanese people died.
The coastal town of Otsuchi was hit particularly hard, the lives of over 800 residents were lost in the horror of the floods and another 421 people remain missing to this day.
As so many people in the community were bereaved of the ones they loved, Mister Sasaki decided to open his Kaze no Denwa to all, “to offer something for people to connect with those they’ve lost”.
Word began to spread and soon, mourning people from all around the country began arriving at his quiet hilltop…an estimated 25.000 visitors have found solace here since the disasters.

The Telephone of the Wind is situated in Otsuchi, northeastern Japan, on a small and beautiful grassy hilltop, overlooking the Pacific Ocean, 
Inside, there is a little shelf with a notebook and pen, several small decorations and a black rotary telephone.
The phone has no electricity and it is connected to nowhere. 
It does not receive incoming calls. 
And it does not ring.
But just because it does not ring, it doesn’t mean that no one is listening.

In 2016, the Japanese public broadcaster NHK created a deeply moving documentary, called “Phone of the Wind: Whispers to Lost Families”. In this film, we get to see and hear some of the people that visit Mister Sasaki’s garden.
Some of them are looking for answers, others just give a quick update on their lives (“Dad, I’ve really gotten into boybands on TV!”), they share their hopes, regrets, longing, concerns or simply their silence.
Some come alone, others with friends or an entire family.
And while some simply pick up the receiver and begin speaking, others rotate the dial to choose a number. 
Anything is possible. Because anything works.
A lady who visits to call her lost son tells us:
“I’m so glad I came. Thanks to my friend..
I was able to talk to him a little
I can’t hear him.
It’s just me talking, but…
He heard me, so I can keep living.”

Mister Sasaki says “No matter how hard it is, hope makes life worth living,” and he visits the phone booth every day, looking after it and keeping it clean like an altar. 
He has noticed that, as time has passed, the messages in the notebooks have changed as well.
People have started to accept the passing of their loved ones, now writing notes such as “Please watch over us from heaven.”
As the people of Otsuchi slowly rebuild their city and make it more resilient, this little phone booth helps them to gently heal their hearts too.


The documentary “Phone of the Wind- Whispers to Lost Families” can be watched here: or alternatively, the This American Life podcast did a wonderful segment called “Really long distance” about the booth:

Pictures by Alexander McBride Wilson and Kentaro Takahashi


Alice Roosevelt died on Valentine’s Day of 1884, just 36 hours after giving birth to a daughter.
She was just 22 years old and passed away in the arms of her loving husband, future U.S. President Theodore Roosevelt.
On the same day, in the same house, Roosevelt had already said a final goodbye to his mother, Martha “Mittie”, who had died of typhoid fever.

Theodore's diary entry for that day read as follows:



Songs to start the day - 'Anenome' by The Brian Jonestown Masacre

Anthony Bourdain described the vibe of this song so well, when he said:
Drenched in opiates and regret, I heard this song once and became besotted by it.
It sounds like lost love, past lives, unforgiven mistakes and transgressions.

Anenome by the Brian Jonestown Massacre is the perfect song to start your day with, If you want to start your day
feeling dangerously sensual, that is.

Click to listen here:


Where they worked - Jan, Marianne and Annabert Yoors

Jan Yoors- a childhood wanderer, that left his parents’ home in Antwerp at the early age of 12 to join a group (‘kumpania') of Roma, who he travelled on and off with for ten years, and was eventually adopted by.
A life, that he wrote several books about and documented with timeless and brilliant black and white photographs.
Jan Yoors- an active member of the World War II underground, managing to escape from Gestapo capture and torture.
Jan Yoors- a polyamorous New York based artist, that reinvented the world of tapestry and hung around with Jackson Pollock and Willem De Kooning.
Jan Yoors- who had a relatively short life but continued to live on, in the epic designs he left behind. Extraordinary tapestries that were being created until years after his passing...woven on giant looms, by the two wives that survived and revered him.

At this point it’s hard to tell exactly how much of the details of his incredible story are true.
Jan himself once spoke the following words:
Tapestry is by definition a mural art and as such can, and must, be of epic scale and heroic dimensions.
And perhaps, he really lived a life that measured up to the exact same criteria as his art.

What I do know for sure though, is that he left a stunning legacy of paintings, drawings, designs, sculptures, books, photographs and tapestries. And for this post, I’d like to show a little more of the latter and about how and where they were created.

Design Process
After being inspired by an exhibition about French tapestries, Jan built a loom and together with his wives Annabert and Marianne, through trial and error, discovered the techniques of weaving.

Then, after a decade of exploring vibrant figurative designs, often depicting biblical and mythical subjects, Yoors began designing abstract tapestries in the late 1950s. The abstract journey led him towards an increasing fascination with capturing the ephemeral and many of the tapestries from the late 1960s onward, recall geographic and natural forms, as well as more ephemeral concepts such as language.

“He would take a picture of a torn poster, a shadow or some graffiti—something that’ll be gone in a second—and then turn it into a design for tapestry, which would take ages to weave!”
- Kore Yoors about his father Jan.

This captivation with the ephemeral- and transforming its fleetingness through the permanence of an ancient art form as tapestry- is, where the timeless magic of Yoors’ designs springs from.
Surroundings became opportunities and inspiration became boundless- Jan, Marianne and Annabert all participated in this process and there was a constant dialogue and experimentation between them.

Through photography, the art form that already guided him on his journeys as a teenager and young adult, Jan could capture ephemeral elements such as patina and imperfections in urban landscape- like torn posters or dripping paint. 
He would then rotate, crop and enlarge parts of the abstract photographs, and turn them into vibrant gouache designs.
The gouache image was traced and gridded, to enable translation to a large scale that was transferable to their giant, hand built loom.
These full scale paintings were often hung behind the loom, for guidance while weaving and the warp threads themselves were painted on to mark changes in colour.

Process steps of designs based on photographs of landscape and of the residue of torn posters (click to enlarge):

Process steps of the tapestry “As Clouds to Moon”, based on Newspaper Cutouts:

Photographs of torn posters and Gouache designs:

Process steps of designs based on Shadow Studies:
Yoors designed The Tantra series from cropped contact prints that he made of leaves and their shadows.

Process steps of designs based on Texture and Pattern:

Weaving Process

If three to four people weave eight hours each day, a 2.5 by 3 metre tapestry, would usually take four or five months to complete.
When this sinks in, one can imagine that the lives of the Yoors family were inseparable from their work.

Annabert and Marianne wove together for fifty years, sometimes for days without a break.
Using an age-old method, they threaded their giant 4.5 metre loom and carefully transposed Jan’s original full-scale design onto the threads with a paintbrush.
They wove one colour at a time, beating each individual Persian thread down with a screwdriver. Marianne has said that they wove as one person, which is proven by the tapestries’ flawless surfaces.
The final product was hemmed and pressed, all by hand.

“When you spend six, eight, ten months weaving a tapestry,  you weave a foot or so and roll it up. 
You cannot make a mistake because it cannot be fixed.” 
Marianne Yoors

From each design, only one single tapestry was woven.
We make one single tapestry from each design, as opposed to the current trend of producing editions or series of reproductions.
In an age marked by either anonymous mass production or, in its very opposite, what I consider, excessive egocentrism and interpersonal distrust, the team work, demanded by the making of tapestries as we practice it, is one of the purest forms of romance and personal fulfilment.”
- Jan Yoors

The tapestries were always signed, “Jan Yoors.” 
In answer to the question why she and Annabert didn’t sign the weavings, Marianne has simply stated: “we signed with every stitch.”

96 Fifth Avenue
The Yoors’ moved to 96 Fifth Avenue in New York in 1950.
With tapestry not yet being recognised as a fine-arts form, plus it taking them six to nine months to weave one tapestry, they were completely broke.

“We had no money at all. We were living in a loft building we were not allowed to live. We had no kitchen, no bathroom... But all that mattered to Jan was having space to do his work.
The three of us worked every single day, even weekends, until midnight.” 
- Marianne Yoors

329 East 47th Street
Their dedication however persisted and commissions started coming in, which then allowed them to move to a larger (and amazing!) studio on 47th street.

108 Waverly Place
Finally, in 1967, the Yoors Family ended up in Greenwich Village.
Jan and Annabert already had two children together (Vanya and Lyuba) and after Marianne became pregnant with Kore, they decided to divorce.
This was a formality, which enabled Jan to now marry Marianne and become Kore’s official father.

“I didn’t care about this at all, but Jan insisted!
We didn’t even have a celebration. We just went to City Hall, and that was it. I can’t even remember the date!” 
- Marianne Yoors.

Apartment Kore and Marianne
Jan passed away in 1977, he was 55 years old and suffered a heart attack at home.

Annabert and Marianne continued weaving his remaining unwoven designs for many years, until the landlord decided to sell their studio.
In 1998, after 35 years, they had to leave Waverly Place for a much smaller apartment, where it became almost impossible to continue the weaving.
When asked the question by the New York Times if moving would be like disassembling a shrine, Marianne answered:
''That is the wrong word. A shrine is to something that is no longer alive.''

In the same interview, the ladies spoke about each other:
''She talks so beautiful,'' said Annabert of Marianne,
''She goes everywhere, she is afraid of nothing'' Marianne said of Annabert.

Annabert passed away in 2010.

Marianne and Kore still live in the smaller but beautiful apartment.
The space is unique and full of love and art, in the living room a coffee table made out of their first loom, throughout the house Mariannes wonderful ceramics an Jan’s timeless photography, life sized sculpture and vibrant designs.

Jan, Annabert and Marianne Yoors created dozens  of handwoven tapestries between 1945 and 1977, the year that Jan died.
The actual number is now closer to 200,  seven of which have a length over 6 metres. The designs and colours are as brilliant and unique today as when they were first dyed and created.

But instead of speaking further about his art, let’s finish up with Jan’s own words:

“If I am reticent to speak about the sources, the drive to make, or the meaning of my tapestries, it is because I strongly feel that were I able to do so, articulately and coherently, I would be a writer on art rather than an artist.”


*Photographs sourced from various locations, but mainly through the Yoors Family Partnership, please click pictures to enlarge.
Kore and Marianne’s apartment photographed by Leslie Williamson.

Where they worked - Georgia O'Keeffe

Her incredible art, her battle against gender bias, her vivid and inspiring correspondence, her fierce and sensual beauty and her impeccable, understated taste in wardrobe...there's a lot that one could talk about when it comes to Georgia O'Keeffe.

Well, she was a lover and a loner and New Mexico stole her heart.
And it was there, in the North of New Mexico that she spent the last forty years of her life, in quiet but creative isolation and in two incredibly beautiful houses, of which I’m sharing a few images of today.

Rancho de los Burros at Ghost Ranch

To me it is the best place in the world,” O’Keeffe said of Ghost Ranch, of which she first purchased a very small piece of land in 1940.
It has always been secluded and solitary. When I first went there, it was only one house with one room—which had a ghost living in it.
As soon as I saw it, I knew I must have it”

But Rancho de los Burros was barren and a place for summer, so in 1945 Georgia bought a second piece of land in the village of Abiquiú.
Three acres, including a crumbling adobe home and the possibility of planting a garden.
She spent three years remodelling and rebuilding the house and after her husband, Alfred Stieglitz, passed away, O’Keeffe left New York to make Abiquiú her permanent home.

Abiquiú house- Outside

"When I got to New Mexico, that was mine. As soon as I saw it, that was my country.
I’d never seen anything like it before, but it fitted to me exactly.
It’s something that’s in the air, it’s just different.
The sky is different, the stars are different, the wind is different. 
I feel at home here – I feel quiet – my skin feels close to the earth when I walk out into the red hills …"

Abiquiú house- Patio and Atelier

Abiquiú house- Studio

After fully moving here, Georgia would sign her letters to the people she loved with “from the faraway nearby”, a beautiful oxymoron, enveloping physical distance as well as emotional closeness.
One can be inspired by the absolute beauty of the distance and yet remain close to the ones we love, in our hearts and minds.

Abiquiú house- Living Room

Abiquiú house- Dining Room

Abiquiú house- Kitchen and Pantry

Abiquiú house- Bedroom
O'Keeffe did not bring antiques to Santa Fe, she worked with what she had and mixed modern and adobe with found objects.
The patent-leather blackout curtains in her bedroom however, are a flash of her New York days.

I love the detail of the Buddha hand in Abhaya mudrā pose ( right hand held upright, with the palm  facing outwards) a gesture of fearlessness.
It reminds me of one of my favourite quotes by Georgia O’Keeffe:
“I’ve always been absolutely terrified every single moment of my life and I’ve never let it stop me from doing a single thing I wanted to do”

In her paintings, Georgia O’Keeffe immortalised the dramatic landscape surrounding her homes, in all its shifting colours and moods
In her houses, she managed to create an extraordinary calm.
And in her words, she left us with wise thoughts to delve into:
"I feel there is something unexplored about woman that only a woman can explore.”
“Whether you succeed or not is irrelevant—there is no such thing.
Making your unknown known is the important thing—and keeping the unknown always beyond you…”

May we all have the courage to explore our personal and unique unknown, while also having a safe haven from which we can admire our surroundings.


*Photographs by Tony Vaccaro, Yousuf Karsh, Balthazar Korab, Herbert Lotz, Todd Webb, John Loengard, Brittany Ambridge, Arnold Newman and Laura Gilpin.
Sourced from various locations, please click to enlarge.

Footprints of devotion

Hua Chi, a Buddhist monk and doctor of traditional medicine, has been praying in the same spot for decades.
Over the years, he has knelt in daily prayer so many times, that the soles of his feet have become deeply embedded in the wooden floor of the temple he lives in.
These beautifully ingrained footprints show his devotion and inspire others to work towards leaving their own mark.

Photo's by Reinhard Krause


He wrote on a piece of paper with his pencil.
Psychosis: out of touch with reality.
Since then, I have been trying to find out what reality is, so that I can touch it.
- Jeanette Winterson

Picture by Alva Bernadine

Picture by Alva Bernadine


Things To Do

When asked for his definition of paradise, Johnny Cash replied:
“This morning, with her, having coffee.”

The following to-do list by Johnny, sold at an auction in 20110 for $6,250.
Remarkable, as to me it seems invaluable.



One of Maurice Sendak’s best compliments

I absolutely adore this story by the late, great and lovely Maurice Sendak, author of Where the Wild Things Are:

“Once a little boy sent me a charming card with a little drawing on it. I loved it.
I answer all my children’s letters—sometimes very hastily—but this one I lingered over.
I sent him a card and I drew a picture of a Wild Thing on it.
I wrote, “Dear Jim: I loved your card.”
Then I got a letter back from his mother and she said, “Jim loved your card so much he ate it.”
That to me was one of the highest compliments I've ever received.
He didn't care that it was an original Maurice Sendak drawing or anything.
He saw it, he loved it, he ate it.”




Some kind of relaxed and beautiful thing
kept flickering in with the tide
and looking around.
Black as a fisherman’s boot,
with a white belly.

If you asked for a picture I would have to draw a smile
under the perfectly round eyes and above the chin,
which was rough
as a thousand sharpened nails.

And you know
what a smile means,
don’t you?


I wanted the past to go away, I wanted
to leave it, like another country; I wanted
my life to close, and open
like a hinge, like a wing, like the part of the song
where it falls
down over the rocks: an explosion, a discovery;
I wanted
to hurry into the work of my life; I wanted to know,

whoever I was, I was

for a little while.


It was evening, and no longer summer.
Three small fish, I don’t know what they were,
huddled in the highest ripples
as it came swimming in again, effortless, the whole body
one gesture, one black sleeve
that could fit easily around
the bodies of three small fish.


Also I wanted
to be able to love. And we all know
how that one goes,
don’t we?



the dogfish tore open the soft basins of water.


You don’t want to hear the story
of my life, and anyway
I don’t want to tell it, I want to listen

to the enormous waterfalls of the sun.

And anyway it’s the same old story – - -
a few people just trying,
one way or another,
to survive.

Mostly, I want to be kind.
And nobody, of course, is kind,
or mean,
for a simple reason.

And nobody gets out of it, having to
swim through the fires to stay in
this world.


And look! look! look! I think those little fish
better wake up and dash themselves away
from the hopeless future that is
bulging toward them.


And probably,
if they don’t waste time
looking for an easier world,

they can do it.



Don't you dare

Caitlin Moran is  a very wise and extremely funny human being.

I had read the following words over and again in particular times of need, before I found out that they are actually part of a larger and touching Times article.
However, the fierce and loving hopefulness of this particular excerpt, still remain the core message to me:

"At 19, I’d read a sentence that had re-terraformed my head: “The level of matter in the universe has been constant since the Big Bang.”

In all the aeons we have lost nothing, we have gained nothing – not a speck, not a grain, not a breath. The universe is simply a sealed, twisting kaleidoscope that has reordered itself a trillion trillion trillion times over.

Each baby, then, is a unique collision – a cocktail, a remix – of all that has come before: made from molecules of Napoleon and stardust and comets and whale tooth; colloidal mercury and Cleopatra’s breath: and with the same darkness that is between the stars between, and inside, our own atoms.

When you know this, you suddenly see the crowded top deck of the bus, in the rain, as a miracle: this collection of people is by way of a starburst constellation. Families are bright, irregular-shaped nebulae. Finding a person you love is like galaxies colliding. We are all peculiar, unrepeatable, perambulating micro-universes – we have never been before, and we will never be again.
Oh God, the sheer exuberant, unlikely fact of our existences.
The honour of being alive.
They will never be able to make you again.
Don’t you dare waste a second of it thinking something better will happen when it ends.
Don’t you dare."

Picture by Carol Jerrems

Picture by Carol Jerrems

Fpr the full article, have a looksie over here: