A few nice bing image images I found:
Mystical Macro
Image by DeeAshley
Intellect can orbit about the truth forever, but it has no feet to land.
There is a faculty, however, that doesn't need to travel to find Truth;
for which Truth was never hidden or obscured.
For it is a native of Truth from its birth.
It is not blind faith. It is an inner vision.
It is not mind, but even more essential to our very being.
It is the foundation from which meaningful thought begins and with it all things resolve. For it knows intimately that at which the mind can only peer through the shifting clouds.
Along the journey to wisdom, you will pass a muddy river.
It may appear a river of wisdom, but don't steer your boat towards it.
Oh so many have turned to it and lost their way.
In fact, it is a river of exile.
It is the river of "I have heard that already."
To the wise, wisdom never ceases to sing
***
(Unfortunately, I do not know the author of the passage above...)
***
Mystical Macro
Image by DeeAshley
Intellect can orbit about the truth forever, but it has no feet to land.
There is a faculty, however, that doesn't need to travel to find Truth;
for which Truth was never hidden or obscured.
For it is a native of Truth from its birth.
It is not blind faith. It is an inner vision.
It is not mind, but even more essential to our very being.
It is the foundation from which meaningful thought begins and with it all things resolve. For it knows intimately that at which the mind can only peer through the shifting clouds.
Along the journey to wisdom, you will pass a muddy river.
It may appear a river of wisdom, but don't steer your boat towards it.
Oh so many have turned to it and lost their way.
In fact, it is a river of exile.
It is the river of "I have heard that already."
To the wise, wisdom never ceases to sing
***
(Unfortunately, I do not know the author of the passage above...)
***
Couch Catatonia
Image by DeeAshley
. . . There are words inside her, waiting to be born.
She feels them growing, forming, becoming thoughts that might later work themselves into sentences to be spoken aloud.
Now, they are nothing but jagged letters with sharp edged corners poking at her, making her uncomfortable. She can’t seem to put them together in any way that softens them.
She soon realizes they will always be hard and sharp. They will always be hard to get out.
It might be easier to keep them inside, let them remain a struggling mess of letters and sounds that will hurt no one but her.
