“The body is a place of violence. Wolf teeth, amputated hands. Cover yourself with a cloak of leaves, a coat of a thousand furs, a paper dress. The dark forest has a code. The witch sometimes dispenses advice, sometimes eats you for dinner, sometimes turns your brother to stone…”— Jeannine Hall Gailey, from ‘Introduction to The Body in Fairytales’
picture me wreathed in ivy, mouth dripping moss, melting into the earth with every jade blink of my honey-soft eyes. see me as I should be, not as I am.
There is a price to be paid for every increase in consciousness. We cannot be more sensitive to pleasure without being more sensitive to pain.
Alan Watts (via novemberkind)
The wolf runs.
It runs three legged, like all damaged creatures, across the snow.
She thinks: this is true.
She thinks: this is a life.
She thinks: I do not want to die, but my life will always be like this—wounded and animal, lurching against white.
Lidia Yuknavitch, The Small Backs of Children (via moral-disorder)
