I Made Some Little Fairies Out Of Pressed Flowers 🌷

Hugo Simberg, The Garden of Death, 1896.

Piotr Stachiewicz

i DO enjoy when seedlings start pushing their way through the soil but they havent gotten big enough to break the surface yet so all you see is a little dirt lump that wasn't there before and its like ohh shit watch out world here they come in a short 8 to 48 hours!!

I love the sheer enormity of leviathan and ramuh…

life and existence. fragile and ruthless. precious and temporary. confusing and miraculous.

Not to get morbid - I'm in good spirits, I want to stress that - but hearing about those roman gravestones that address whoever pauses to read them makes me want to have one too once I'm done. But I don't think I want one that's sweetly thanking people for pausing to remember. I want to grab people by the throat from beyond the grave and put them into existential contemplations of their own life. Something along the lines of

In this moment we are both here - you there, aboveground, I here, below. Come tomorrow, I will still be here. Where will you be?

Death might appear to destroy the meaning in our lives, but in fact it is the very source of our lives. As Kafka said, “ The meaning of life is that it ends.” Death is the engine that keeps us running, giving us the motivation to achieve, learn, love, and create.

‘Smoke Gets in Your Eyes: And Other Lessons from the Crematory’ by Caitlin Doughty (via artisticinsight)