You can’t find intimacy—you can’t find home—when you’re always hiding behind masks. Intimacy requires a certain level of vulnerability. It requires a certain level of you exposing your fragmented, contradictory self to someone else. You running the risk of having your core self rejected and hurt and misunderstood.
written by Junot Díaz (via redfantasma)

(Source: , via dirtyberd)


In this breathtaking image we are presented with a star sprinkled sky casting a dreamlike glow over Great Basin National Park in Nevada.Aside from having some of the darkest night skies in the world, this area is famous for its 5,000 year old bristlecone pine trees, as well as the Lehman Caves at the base of Wheeler Peak, a 3,981 meters) mountain, named for George Wheeler, an explorer and cartographer who led expeditions in the west west from 1869 to 1871.-Jean Image by National Park Service

Meditative Rose, Salvador Dali

my ride is here

An Astronaut in the ISS observing airglow, the very weak emission of light by a planetary atmosphere.
At 19, I read a sentence that 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 face 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.
written by Caitlin Moran (via scatteredandshining)

(Source: lustsandluxuries, via rich-homie-john)