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@sanctorium.bsky.social

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photography, writing header: Alice Oswald, Falling Awake

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sanctorium.bsky.social @sanctorium.bsky.social · Nov 12

I wake to listen:
A far sea moves in my ear.

Sylvia Plath, The Morning Song

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sanctorium.bsky.social @sanctorium.bsky.social · 2h

wish you a lovely day

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sanctorium.bsky.social @sanctorium.bsky.social · 21h

tea and Sunday read

sanctorium.bsky.social @sanctorium.bsky.social · 1d

Saying nothing sometimes says the most.

Emily Dickinson

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sanctorium.bsky.social @sanctorium.bsky.social · 1d

illusion of hours

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sanctorium.bsky.social @sanctorium.bsky.social · 1d

(forgotten mnemonic)

Man Ray, 1925

pair hands clasped with crossed line over, like thread

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sanctorium.bsky.social @sanctorium.bsky.social · 1d

field of muse and mull

carpet faded into fragments of colour, earth and sea

sanctorium.bsky.social @sanctorium.bsky.social · 1d

Orlando (Virginia Woolf, 1928) film dr. Sally Potter on screen for cocktail hour.

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sanctorium.bsky.social @sanctorium.bsky.social · 1d

have a wonderful night

fireworks, albeit subtle, against a dark blue night sky

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sanctorium.bsky.social @sanctorium.bsky.social · 2d

The universe is true for us all and dissimilar to each of us.

Marcel Proust, In Search of Lost Time

wall fragment, Rome, 50 BC

Wall fragment 50BC of an urn on pedestal (red-orange)

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sanctorium.bsky.social @sanctorium.bsky.social · 2d

Those who are willing to be vulnerable move among mysteries.

Theodore Roethke, Straw for the Fire: From the Notebooks of Theodore Roethke

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sanctorium.bsky.social @sanctorium.bsky.social · 2d

🤍

sanctorium.bsky.social @sanctorium.bsky.social · 2d

🤍

sanctorium.bsky.social @sanctorium.bsky.social · 2d

I wish you a beautiful day.

A tree’s trunk is shadowed against a stone wall, appearing as a complete tree

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sanctorium.bsky.social @sanctorium.bsky.social · 2d

When words leave off, music begins.

Heinrich Heine

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sanctorium.bsky.social @sanctorium.bsky.social · 2d

A spoken language is a body, a living creature, whose physiognomy is verbal and whose visceral functions are linguistic. And this creature's home is the inarticulate as well as the articulate.

John Berger, Confabulations

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sanctorium.bsky.social @sanctorium.bsky.social · 2d

There are, indeed, things that cannot be put into words. They make themselves manifest.
They are what is mystical.

Ludwig Wittgenstein

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sanctorium.bsky.social @sanctorium.bsky.social · 2d

Emily Dickinson

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sanctorium.bsky.social @sanctorium.bsky.social · 2d

The pines make a music like no other, rising and falling like a distant surf at night that calms the darkness before first light. “Soughing” we call it, from
Old English, no less. How weightless words are when nothing will do.

Philip Levine, Breath