Cascade Waterfall Quotes

My mind is a raging torrent, flooded with rivulets of thought cascading into a waterfall of creative alternatives.

I open my eyes to see Ry staring at me, and my desert soul erupts with turquoise water, floods and cascades and waterfalls rushing in around my rocky parts, pushing and reshaping and filling every hidden dark spot.

Another way to look at meditation is to view the process of thinking itself as a waterfall, a continual cascading of thought. In cultivating mindfulness we are going beyond or behind our thinking, much the way you might find a vantagepoint in a cave or depression in a rock behind a waterfall. We still see and hear the water, but we are out of the torrent.

I will fill myself with the desert and the sky. I will be stone and stars, unchanging and strong and safe. The desert is complete; it is spare and alone, but perfect in its solitude. I will be the desert. I open my eyes to see Ry staring at me, and my desert soul erupts with turquoise water, floods and cascades and waterfalls rushing in around my stone, swirling and eddying around my rocky parts, pushing and reshaping and filling every hidden dark spot.

I swear he is there, his arms outstretched, the waterfall beneath him, cascading into the cool blue water below. Go on, Ava. It’s going to be great! It’s not a dare. Not this time. But it’s almost like I’m on that high dive again, scared of what comes next, yet knowing at the same time it will all be okay.

The magic ground against my mind and I heard the same word whispered over and over in my head. “Z’emir-amit. Z’emir-amit. Z’emir-amit.” Oh my God. I knew that name. I read about her. I studied her legends, but I never thought I would come across anything of hers because she had been dead for thousands of years. Dead and buried in distant Iraq, somewhere on the east bank of the Tigris River. That name belonged to the bones in front of me. I could feel it. I knew this magic. I was looking at the corpse of my grandmother. She wanted me to say her name. She wanted to know that I understood. I opened my mouth and said it out loud. “Semiramis.” Her magic drenched me, not the blow of a hammer, but a cascade of power, pouring onto me as if I stood under a waterfall. Z’emir-amit. The Branch Bearer. The Shield of Assyria. The Great Queen Semiramis. A line from Sarchedon floated up from my memory. When she turns her eyes on you, it is like the golden lustre of noon-day; and her smile is brighter and more glorious than sunset in the desert… To look on her face unveiled is to be the Great Queen’s slave for ever more.

Our lives can be compared to beautiful streams, which are destined to flow, grow in majesty to create wonderful features such as cascading waterfalls, and give nourishment and life to those in its path. Inshan Meahjohn

When we mourn those who die young – those who have been robbed of time – we weep for lost joys. We weep for opportunities and pleasure we ourselves have never known. We feel sure that somehow that young body would have known the yearning delight for which we searched in vain all our lives. We believe that the untried soul, trapped in its young prison, might have flown free and known the joy that we still seek. We say that life is sweet, its satisfactions deep. All this we say, as we sleepwalk our time through years of days and nights. We let time cascade over us like a waterfall, believing it to be never-ending. Yet each day that touches us, and every man in the world, is unique; irredeemable; over. And just another Monday.

No longer was she an heiress from another world; she was the woman he had wanted to possess the moment he saw her, and she was sitting beside him, her hair cascading over his arm like a thick satin waterfall

It was less the fact of Yoshiko's defilement than the defilement of her trust in people which became so persistent a source of grief as almost to render my life insupportable. [...] Yoshiko's immaculate trustfulness seemed clean an pure, like a waterfall among green leaves. One night sufficed to turn the waters of this pure cascade yellow and muddy. Yoshiko began from that night to fret over my every smile or frown.

As the wind swelled, my tree started to sway. Almost like a human body it swung back and around, gently at first, then more and more wildly. While the swaying intensified, so did my fears that the trunk might snap and hurl me to the ground. But in time my confidence returned. Amazed at how the tree could be at once so flexible and so sturdy, I held on tight as it bent and waved, twisted and swirled, slicing curves and arcs through the air. With each graceful swing, I felt less a creature of the land and more a part of the wind itself. "The rain began falling, it's sound merging with the splashing river and the singing trees. Branches streamed like waterfalls of green. Tiny rivers cascaded down every trunk, twisting through moss meadows and bark canyons. All the while, I rode out the gale. I could not have felt wetter. I could not have felt freer. "When, at last, the storm subsided, the entire world seemed newly born. Sunbeams danced on rain-washed leaves. Curling columns of mist rose from every glade. The forest's colors shown more vivid, its smells struck more fresh. And I understood, for the first time in my life, that the Earth was always being remade, that life was always being renewed. That it may have been the afternoon of this particular day, but it was still the very morning of Creation.

sound, a cascading waterfall of glee. I

Our souls are like streams that can never rest until they once again mingle with the Infinite Sea. Until that time comes we meander, trying out new channels, new lines of least resistance. Sometimes the stream of life swells and rises, sometimes it cascades down like a waterfall. At times the water is shallow, at other times deep, sometimes dark and murky, sometimes pure and crystal clear. At times we enter lakes of the spirit that are so large and still that they deceive us into thinking that we have reached the ocean of endlessness that we have sought so long. Sometimes we are lured by gravity into swamps of uncertainty, sometimes we are trapped in tidal pools from which we fear we might never escape. From lifetime to lifetime the stream goes on, searching, suffering, pursuing the Infinite reunion.

Cascade Towers!” Jupiter shouted over the roaring, rushing sound of a waterfall as they lunged out from between the alley walls, gasping for breath. Not just a waterfall, though—a dozen waterfalls, maybe more. Some were vast, impenetrable white-water curtains that crashed spectacularly to the ground; others delicate and crystalline with a sound like tinkling glass chimes. It was a symphony of water, falling from nowhere and disappearing into nothing, arranged in the three-dimensional form of a glorious, glittering skyscraper.

The music surged down the stairs like a flashing stream—it gathered in the corridor and burst like a waterfall through the wide entry doors. It splashed over a small, lonely figure crouching on the lowest step, dark and colorless like an un-moving lump of black, a little hillock with mad, unresting eyes. It was the old man who had freed himself with such difficulty from the unrelenting window. He crouched in the corner, lost and done for, with bowed shoulders and knees drawn high, as though he would never rise again—and over him, and away in gay and flashing cascades, the music splashed and danced, strong, pitiless, unceasing as life itself.

Lying in a position of classic repose, Winnifred had never been more beautiful. Her silvery gold hair cascaded over the oaken door upon which she lay. A bright waterfall, it pooled on the deep green felt of the billiard table where the door rested. Her sightless blue eyes stared up at the plastered ceiling, her face a study in serenity and peace. I had never seen violent death leave a corpse so lovely.

I think this dress will stun the nobility, and leave them stupefied with envy and lust," Madame Sandrine announced with relish. "I'm just glad it's not crimson, like everything else you drape," Farah said to her husband as she glanced at her transformation in the floor-to-ceiling mirrors across from the raised podium on which she stood. The creation of blue silk evoked the midnight sky, as it wrapped her bosom and waist in bejeweled gathers before cascading from her hips in a dark waterfall. The shamelessly cut bodice was lent a hint of respectability by folds of a shimmering diaphanous silver material draping from a choker of gems about her neck and flowing down her shoulders like moonbeams. To call them sleeves would have been a mistake, for all they concealed. Madame Sandrine threw a teasing look over her shoulder at Blackwell. "How fitting that the color of blood is the one you prefer the most." "Not for her," Dorian rumbled. The seamstress lifted a winged eyebrow, but didn't comment. "Voila. I believe that is all I'll need from you today, Madame Blackwell. I can have these finished in the morning, and in the meantime I have a lovely soft gray frock hemmed with tiny pink blossoms that will bring out the color in your cheeks.

Through Poppy’s eyes, she learned to see the treasures that the mountains held for those who lowered their eyes and let them linger on the ground: neat little mats of wild thyme encrusted on sun-baked rocks and stones covered with pin cushions of yellow saxifrage bobbing up and down between the sparkling ripples of the mountain streams. Lucy had passed waterfalls where tall, pink adenostyles stood proudly at the edge to be showered and splashed, and frothy clumps of white saxifrage cascaded from crannies in the shining, rocky sides into the tumbling waters below. She had wandered across hillsides where wild cumin blew on the breeze, ambled under the cool shadows of the pinewoods punctuated by bright, dainty astrantia and plodged through mountain bogs amongst the fluffy white drumsticks of cotton grass. 

Decorated in exotic tones of saffron, gold, ruby, and cinnamon with accent walls representing the natural movement of wind and fire, and a cascading waterfall layered with beautiful landscaped artificial rocks and tiny plastic animals, the restaurant was the embodiment of her late brother's dream to re-create "India" in the heart of San Francisco. The familiar scents- cinnamon, pungent turmeric, and smoky cumin- brought back memories of evenings spent stirring dal, chopping onions, and rolling roti in the bustling kitchen of her parents' first restaurant in Sunnyvale under the watchful army of chefs who followed the recipes developed by her parents. What had seemed fun as a child, and an imposition as a teenager, now filled her with a warm sense of nostalgia, although she would have liked just one moment of her mother's time.

She wraps her legs around my waist, and I walk us slowly down the hall. "Mmm, wait," she whines against my mouth. "I haven't showered. I'm so gross, and I don't..." She trails off as I turn into my bathroom, then set her down. She shuffles her bare feet against the gray stone tile, an inquisitive look on her face as she looks around the narrow space bathed in neutral hues. I push open the glass door and turn on the shower. Water cascades from the waterfall showered. "Oh," she says as she grins and bites her bottom lip. By the time we've helped each other out of our clothes, the water's warm. I help her in first, then step in. And then, under the hot stream of water, we resume our dirty kissing and grabbing. "Wait, wait." She presses a hand against my chest, then reaches for the shampoo bottle on the ledge. "I do need to get clean first." I laugh and follow her lead by shampooing my own hair and doing a quick rinse with body wash. She holds her hand out for the loofah, but I shake my head. "Let me?" A devilish smirk tugs at her perfect mouth. When she nods and licks her lips, I have to take a second. God, this woman. The way she's sweet and filthy all at once is enough to make me lose it right here. But I refuse. Not before she gets what I'm dying to give her. I work up a lather and run the loofah all over her body. I take my time, paying attention to every part of her. These beautifully curved hips, the fullness of her thighs, the gentle curve of her waist, her arms, her hands, the swell of her boobs. And then I lather up my hands and slowly work between her legs. She clutches both hands around my biceps, and her toes curl against the earthen-hued river rock that lines the shower floor. Her eyes go wide and pleading as she looks up at me. I lean down to kiss her. "Tell me what you want." "You. Just you. Please." With her breathy request, I'm ready to burst. Not yet, though. She reaches down to palm me, but I gently push her hand away. I want this to be one hundred percent about her. When she presses her mouth against my shoulder and her sounds go louder and more frantic, I work my hand faster. She's panting, pleading, shouting. When I feel the sting of her teeth against my skin, I grin. Fuck yeah, my girl is rough when she loses it and I love it. I love her. She explodes against my palm, the weight of her body shuddering against me. I've got her, though. I've always, always got you. When she starts to ease back down, she lets out a breathy laugh. "Oh my god." I nod down at her, which only makes her laugh harder. Then she glances down at what I'm sporting between my legs and flashes a naughty smirk. "Let's do something about that." Soon it's me at the mercy of her hands. My head spins at the pleasure she delivers so confidently, like she knows every single one of my buttons to push. When I lose it, I'm shuddering and grunting. For a few seconds, my vision's blurry. She's that incredible.

Fear is one of the biggest single factors that deprives one of being able to achieve your full potential. We experience fear more as a result of our internal communication of mind rather than because of actual external factors.Fear is an unseen enemy that whispers negative thoughts into your mind, body and soul. It tries to convince you that you will not prosper and that you cannot achieve your full potential.Our lives can be compared to beautiful streams, which are destined to flow, grow in majesty to create wonderful features such as cascading waterfalls, and give nourishment and life to those in its path.Sometimes we let fear put up a small dam in our rivers of life and it causes us to have stunted growth. We need to be able to rise above it, rise above the fear, break the dam and let our potential flow.When we allow fear to create dams in our rivers of life, then our streams become like the Dead Sea, which is stagnant and void of life and movement. When we confront fear, we break the dams and free our potential to flow forward.We are beings of immense potential, ability and skills. In order to realize our God given talents we need to break through the fear barrier, which through its invisible walls traps us better than any physical prison can be constructed by the hands of man. Our human will and faith can break any barriers that fear can construct.

Rather, I found through this experience that there is significant similarity between meditating under a waterfall and tidying. When you stand under a waterfall, the only audible sound is the roar of water. As the cascade pummels your body, the sensation of pain soon disappears and numbness spreads. Then a sensation of heat warms you from the inside out, and you enter a meditative trance. Although I had never tried this form of meditation before, the sensation it generated seemed extremely familiar. It closely resembled what I experience when I am tidying. While not exactly a meditative state, there are times when I am cleaning that I can quietly commune with myself. The work of carefully considering each object I own to see whether it sparks joy inside me is like conversing with myself through the medium of my possessions. For this reason, it is essential to create a quiet space in which to evaluate the things in your life. Ideally, you should not even be listening to music. Sometimes I hear of methods that recommend tidying in time to a catchy song, but personally, I don’t encourage this. I feel that noise makes it harder to hear the internal dialogue between the owner and his or her belongings. Listening to the TV is, of course, out of the question. If you need some background noise to relax, choose environmental or ambient music with no lyrics or well-defined melodies. If you want to add momentum to your tidying work, tap the power of the atmosphere in your room rather than relying on music. The best time to start is early morning. The fresh morning air keeps your mind clear and your power of discernment sharp. For this reason, most of my lessons commence in the morning. The earliest lesson I ever conducted began at six thirty, and we were able to clean at twice the usual speed. The clear, refreshed feeling gained after standing under a waterfall can be addictive. Similarly, when you finish putting your space in order, you will be overcome with the urge to do it again. And, unlike waterfall meditation, you don’t have to travel long distances over hard terrain to get there. You can enjoy the same effect in your own home. That’s pretty special, don’t you think?

A bisse was a fifteenth century man-made irrigation channel in the mountains, re-channelling the melting glacier waters to arid parts of the hillsides where the poor farming communities struggled to feed their cattle. This one had its source in a high mountain stream. Its waters filtered through boggy marshland then tumbled down rocky waterfalls and ran along a gently descending ditch cleaved into the flank of the hillsides overlooking Grondère, before cascading down to its final destination, the remote pastures of the valley below. 

She was always fearful the profusion of flowers decorating her front porch might irritate her neighbors and draw unwanted attention. Bright, fragrant petunias cascaded down like waterfalls from huge hanging baskets attached to the porch railing. Massive planters held ferns the size of ceiling fan blades; the ferns stood sentry over mounds of multicolored impatiens in such abundance they resembled the vibrant blur of a Monet landscape.

The kiss of my soft soles on the stone, the thud of my heart in my chest and rush of blood in my ears was all I could hear. In my mind, thoughts cascaded like a waterfall into a plunge pool of dread. Churning images of dead girls, bloody limbs, severed throats, gashed flesh and entrails tangling around red washed bodies.

The water represents your nonstop stream of consciousness, which consists mostly of “me, me, me” thoughts. Mindfulness is the area behind the waterfall, which allows you to step out of the cascade and view your urges, impulses, and desires without getting caught up in it all.

Emeline couldn't remember when, exactly, things changed. Only that a moment ago she was walking down palace halls and now she walked a dirt path beneath a midnight sky. Tulip trees lined the path, their flowers unfolding like burning yellow crowns among their green leaves. The farther they walked, the taller the trees grew, until they were impossibly tall. So tall, they seemed to brush the stars. The path ended in a grove of silver birches. Moonlight pooled in from the canopy above, illuminating a bone-white throne and a man seated upon it. Atop his head sat a crown of rosebud thorns. His skin was sunbrowned, his hair moon pale; and instead of robes, water adorned him. It flowed in rivers from his hair, over his neck and shoulders where it began to gush, like a waterfall, down the rest of his body. Emeline could see no glimpse of skin beyond the cascade, but at his feet water pooled and sank into the brown earth. Wherever it touched, gray and purple thistles grew. The Wood King.

We serve and worship the God who overwhelms, who delights to overwhelm. At His right hand are pleasures forevermore—a cascading waterfall of infinite pleasures, with no top, no bottom, no back, no front, and no sides. Nothing but infinite pleasure in motion, and every one of those pleasures is attached to His promises.

Draped in a gown woven from the fabric of dreams, the princess was a vision of ethereal beauty. Her attire, a long, light blue masterpiece, captured the essence of a tranquil sky at twilight. A sheer overlay added an enchanting touch, making her appear as if she were spun from threads of moonlight. The bodice, adorned with intricate beading that sparkled like distant stars, shimmered with every movement. Delicate lace sleeves, as fine as gossamer, adorned her arms. The skirt of her gown cascaded to the floor like a waterfall of dreams, its craftsmanship a testament to the artistry of the realm. A beaded belt cinched her waist, accentuating her graceful figure, while the sheer fabric, adorned with a silver glitter pattern, cast a radiant glow as she moved. With every step, her presence was a living painting from a fairy tale, a royal woven into the enchantment of the room.

Imagine the everyday occurrence where you meet one basic need, only to find that the next need follows immediately. Think of a waterfall. I watched in wonder as I witnessed one waterfall after another from a train window in beautiful Norway. There was no end to those tiny water droplets. They just kept falling. In fact, everyone’s basic needs seem like a waterfall that just keeps cascading, spilling one need after another, especially when you live with other people and have their needs to consider along with your own.

He groaned. She groaned. They both groaned as he played with the nipple. There were no words exchanged between them, nothing but soft pants and moans of pleasure. And the splash as something hit the water. Then another something. The faint echo of a gunshot froze him. Shit. Someone was fucking shooting at them. “Take a deep breath,” was the only warning he gave before yanking Arabella underwater where they’d prove a more difficult target. Wide eyes met his under the surface. Kind of hard to explain. Only his great-uncle Clive had ever inherited the famous Johnson gills. Hayder got great hair. Since he couldn’t explain why it appeared he wanted to drown her, he kicked off. With her in tow, he scissor-kicked to the deep end of the pool by the waterfall. Having explored this place many a time when working off some energy, he knew the perfect spot to shelter while he figured out where the shooter was. And then we’ll catch ’em and eat ’em. It seemed Hayder wasn’t the only one peeved at the interruption. But still… We don’t eat people. Such a disappointed kitty. But catch the hunter and we’ll order the biggest rare steak they have in stock. With the red sauce stuff? A double order of the red wine reduction, he promised. Lungs burning, Hayder dragged them to the surface, behind the filtering screen of water cascading from above. The little hidden grotto made a great hiding spot. The shooter would have a hard time targeting them, and the water would also slow the bullet and throw off its aim. He knew they were more or less safe for the moment, but she didn’t. Soaked and scentless didn’t mean Hayder couldn’t sense the fear coming off Arabella. She remained tucked close to him, for once not sneezing. Small blessing because one of her ginoromous achoos might have caused quite the amplified echo. “Was someone shooting at us?” she whispered in his ear. Kind of funny since nothing could be heard above the falling splash of water “Yes. Someone was trying to get us.” Which meant heads would roll with whoever was on duty for security today. Exactly how had someone made it on to pride land with a loaded weapon? What kind of cowards hunted shifters with bullets? The kind who thought it was okay to beat a woman. Grrrr. Man, not lion, made the sound. It was also the man who made sure to tuck Arabella as deep as he could into the pocket, using himself as a body shield just in case the gunman got a lucky shot. The crashing of water, not to mention the echoes created by the recess, made it impossible to gauge what happened outside their watery grotto. Did the shooter approach? Did he know where they’d gone? Would he stick around long enough for Hayder to hunt him down and slap him silly? Only one way to find out.

He groaned. She groaned. They both groaned as he played with the nipple. There were no words exchanged between them, nothing but soft pants and moans of pleasure. And the splash as something hit the water. Then another something. The faint echo of a gunshot froze him. Shit. Someone was fucking shooting at them. “Take a deep breath,” was the only warning he gave before yanking Arabella underwater where they’d prove a more difficult target. Wide eyes met his under the surface. Kind of hard to explain. Only his great-uncle Clive had ever inherited the famous Johnson gills. Hayder got great hair. Since he couldn’t explain why it appeared he wanted to drown her, he kicked off. With her in tow, he scissor-kicked to the deep end of the pool by the waterfall. Having explored this place many a time when working off some energy, he knew the perfect spot to shelter while he figured out where the shooter was. And then we’ll catch ’em and eat ’em. It seemed Hayder wasn’t the only one peeved at the interruption. But still… We don’t eat people. Such a disappointed kitty. But catch the hunter and we’ll order the biggest rare steak they have in stock. With the red sauce stuff? A double order of the red wine reduction, he promised. Lungs burning, Hayder dragged them to the surface, behind the filtering screen of water cascading from above. The little hidden grotto made a great hiding spot. The shooter would have a hard time targeting them, and the water would also slow the bullet and throw off its aim. He knew they were more or less safe for the moment, but she didn’t. Soaked and scentless didn’t mean Hayder couldn’t sense the fear coming off Arabella. She remained tucked close to him, for once not sneezing. Small blessing because one of her ginoromous achoos might have caused quite the amplified echo. “Was someone shooting at us?” she whispered in his ear. Kind of funny since nothing could be heard above the falling splash of water “Yes. Someone was trying to get us.” Which meant heads would roll with whoever was on duty for security today. Exactly how had someone made it on to pride land with a loaded weapon? What kind of cowards hunted shifters with bullets? The kind who thought it was okay to beat a woman. Grrrr>/I>. Man, not lion, made the sound. It was also the man who made sure to tuck Arabella as deep as he could into the pocket, using himself as a body shield just in case the gunman got a lucky shot. The crashing of water, not to mention the echoes created by the recess, made it impossible to gauge what happened outside their watery grotto. Did the shooter approach? Did he know where they’d gone? Would he stick around long enough for Hayder to hunt him down and slap him silly? Only one way to find out.

The staircase cascades down to the platform like a black waterfall of steel and rivets.

The trail, such as it was, brought us at last to a place where the river became a frozen waterfall cascading down from the heights. "We`re not getting the dogs up that", Griffin commented. "No," Jack agreed. He pointed to the sheer slope of the ravine cut by the waterfall. "Fortunately there`s a trail we can use." "A trail?" I exclaimed. "For what - mountain goats?

She watched as the chocolate looped through the tubes, then flowed along a flat surface until it cascaded over the edge, creating a chocolate waterfall so smooth and shiny she could see her reflection in it. The

Humiliation spread through my body where shock had just been. How had I not seen it? “You’re not embarrassing me like this.” He snapped the lapels of his tux jacket. “I’ll buy some extra time while you get presentable.” A shard of steel lined my spine. “I’m in a wedding dress with pretty ringlets cascading from my head like an icy waterfall. Isn’t that presentable enough for you?” He shoved my shoulders and the back of my head thunked against the wall. “I’ll deal with that mouth tonight.” “I don’t want what you have planned for it.” He pulled his arm back and too late I saw the fist aiming for my gut. My lungs turned to ice. I couldn’t breathe. Then, he was yanked away from me and slammed into the wall across from me. A pair of wide, familiar shoulders blocked my vision, longish dark brown hair with a slight curl touching the collar. The curved wooden handle of a cane stuck out from between the men, horizontal to the floor. Boyd was pinned to the wall by a cane.

Her sun-kissed body radiated against a backdrop of golden locks cascading like a luminous waterfall

Alys came down the stairs and filled the room like a ray of sunshine. Her golden hair had been washed and brushed, and he could see it was just as beautiful as it had been when he’d first seen her. Those locks were shiny and smooth, falling around her head in a cascade of golden curls like a waterfall. Her skin was nearly back to normal, although there were still a few red lines at her joints that clearly hadn’t healed just yet. But the dark circles under her lovely eyes were gone, and the bright expression on her face was full of life. Just as he would always remember her. Because this was how she looked the first time he’d met her, and it was that first glimpse that had filled his soul with sunlight. She was so beautiful that it was hard to breathe when he looked at her. And her? She bolted toward the glass the moment she saw him. Ran for him, moving faster than he’d realized her kind could until she was right there. So close he could have touched her if there wasn’t a barrier between them. Just like the first time they’d seen each other, she lifted her hand and pressed it against the glass. So he mirrored her, wishing he could actually touch her. He wanted to hold her and make sure that she was still really alive. He wanted to feel her against his chest, to know without a doubt, she wasn’t broken. She wasn’t still injured.

Depends on how long this Narrow Way will be,” Farfalee said. “It is on none of the maps, and the instructions were unclear about the distance. The way should end at a waterfall. The entrance is under and behind the cascade.

You made the Cascade of Dreams. Words and glass, spun flutes and verse. Waterfalls of language in fire-blown claws.

She carried him down into a lush cavern. It was a sprawling acre and a half, the floor a beautiful rolling meadow of wildflowers split by a zigzag freshwater stream which was fed by five cascade waterfalls streaming down in roaring torrents from towering one hundred fifty foot sheer walls. There were mineral-rich hot springs and abundant vegetation. Giant ferns, mushrooms, heather, blueberry, alpine strawberry, huckleberry. All thriving in the warm, wet air generated by the nearly constant emission of steam hissing out of geothermal vents. Eerie lava rock formations sprouted up throughout the grotto floor. Curving, organic shapes forming alcoves and niches and cozy recesses offering solitude to whomever, or whatever, required it.

The centuries she had already lived had sobered her to the power of fate. There was a pervasive principle within which everything operated. As convincing as the idea of free will was, there was a constant, albeit subtle force directing events toward a particular end. She knew this intimately as she employed it almost every day: divination. Due to its complexity—as was also the case with other types of temporal magics— even she couldn't claim to know all its nuances. What she knew for sure was that there were different planes of consciousness and that the physical manifestation of the Triskai was one such realm, lying smack in the middle with some realms higher and some lower. Being so far removed from the highest plane of consciousness, people in the Triskai were always under the illusion that their thoughts and actions were made in real time when, in fact, they had already made those decisions in the higher, abstract realms. The decisions and actions simply cascaded down the tiers like a mental waterfall, presenting themselves as instantaneous deeds.

She flipped through them again, quickly enough that she created a moving picture of her granddaughter’s last few weeks—a cascading waterfall of captured moments.

Inside, the bathroom was a riot of sparkling light. The arc of water I sent forth was truly the most beautiful thing I had ever seen, a waterfall of diamonds cascading into a pool, breaking its surface into a billion clattering fractals of light. This went on for a pleasant eternity.

The potential for experiencing pleasure is without limits, and the well of previously unknown beauty essentially bottomless. For—when free from modern life’s clouding distractions, and released from its obstinate grasp—one can tune into nature’s wavelength and experience her every breath, from the bobbing flight of a wagtail to the thundering cascade of a waterfall, as a new thrill. In these timeless moments, as one receives pulse after exhilarating pulse from the ecospheric orchestra, philosophy becomes redundant, just as life’s meaning is made abundantly clear.

Incredibly beautiful, especially at nightfall. Everything, that is living, has some sort of glowing feel. The brightest coolers you have ever seen. Trees bigger than skyscrapers, Trans that float as the race by. All kinds of floating glass homes, connected by vines that glimmer with cascading waterfalls, incredible stone structures are arching all over that connect the one floating island to the next. Star covered the skies with many big moons. Vie has these humanoid people called La-Marie's, they look so much like us it’s daunting. Their skin is so much more transparent than what we have, their body’s completely hairless (every earth girl’s dream right.) Yet they have long hair on the head that lights up, in a wispy way, every pulse of their heartbeat there a flash of light within their body, most of them have blue eyes that glow at night. Their vans light up at night, also bright indigo.

Emotions Dreams I feel like my skin is crawling with viruses when it is on my figure. It’s mid-November and I am standing in the rain, as I run out the door it is, so cold, so lonely, and so freaking loveless! As I found my way back to him, I left behind oh so long ago. Up till now this is not habitual for me, I am always naked around my house, yet this is not a home at all, I don’t know what you call this place, it’s like a school however not so. I have my reason you’ll see, not to say too much, I have someone looking down at me with the eyes and the face and crap. The rain is falling on me, eyes and ears, and boys and girls all like knives inside me, never since the moment I got off the damn bus so it could just run my ass over and get it over with. The rain is matting my long brown hair on me as it lies on down my rump, just like a movie just like the books. Just like me living it, like her. Some of this shower is cascading off my little face, and it slowly collects on my breasts, where it beads up and separates into two different watercourses down to my belly button. I eyeball it, as it goes all the way down the front of me. Yet I am okay with it… at last, I am free. To a fact! I still feel so shut in by all of them. Ten or twenty-five or three minutes have passed, I am still in a similar varied advertisement. ‘Girly portion.’ Almost like a waterfall gushing in-between my legs. It trickles down to me to where it turns and goes in my butt cheeks, falling too and thrashing my mud exposed toes. After standing so long, holding me upright, weekly my legs so not right give out. Just letting water follow me down. I'm soaked! Soft thump, sooner or later the pounding gets rains resilient. Making me fall to the ground with where I will remain until I feel that I can get up and over what has happened to me. I can feel the wetness as it lingers in my hair for a while, so unforgivably waterlogged my body even more. That’s if I can… like if I can accept it all. It’s all because of them! Counting my sanctification, I feel dissatisfied in a way when I do feel it releasing offends my hair. Like it is wiping away everything that happened to me today, away from the day of the past. I feel the dropping rain weeping for me, like hell’s tears of pain and flam it runs out of me as I yell out for his safety in a call of his name.

Etta sticks a small hand into a rack of crimson ball gowns and plucks out one of her loveliest creations. The bodice is made of spiderweb lace, thousands of roses embroidered over herringbone, ending at the waist with waterfalls of dark red silk cascading to the floor.

Softly at first, humming, creeping, boiling up from nowhere at the horizon line; twisting and surging like snake whirlwinds with adolescent intent; building, spiraling, climbing in vague streamers and tendrils of unconsciousness, the colors came. In a rising, keening spiral of hysteria they came, first pulsing in primaries, then secondaries, then comminglings and off shades, and finally in colors that had no names. Colors like racing, and pungent, and far-seen shadows, and bitterness, and something that hurt, and something that pleasured. Oh, mostly the pleasures, one after another, singing, lulling, hypnotically arresting the eye as the ship sped into the heart of the maelstrom of weird, advancing, sky-eating colors. The siren colors of the straits. The colors that came from the air and the island and the world itself, which hushed and hurried across the world to here, to meet when they were needed, to stop the seamen who slid over the waves to the break in the breakwall. The colors, defense, that sent men to the bottom, their hearts bursting with songs of color and charm. The colors that top-filled a man to the brim and kept him poised there with a surface tension of joy and wonder, colors cascading like waterfalls of flowers in his head, millioncolors, blossomshades, brightnesses, joycrashing every things that made a man hurl back and strain his throat to sing, sing, sing chants of amazement and forever—

thin waterfall cascaded down the outside glass of the canopy as the Avenger gently bobbed up and down on top of the still, black sea.  Inside the cockpit, Lt. Haze's head throbbed and ached; he was in a daze.  He couldn't remember exactly where he was or how he got there, but he knew he was in trouble.  He rubbed his eyes a few times in an attempt to regain his wits and spotted the flight controls in front of him.

Another way to look at meditation is to view the process of thinking itself as a waterfall, a continual cascading of thought. In cultivating mindfulness, we are going beyond or behind our thinking, much the way you might find a vantagepoint in a cave or depression in the rock behind a waterfall. We still see and hear the water, but we are out of the torrent. Practicing in this way, our thought patterns change by themselves in ways that nourish integration, understanding, and compassion in our lives, but not because we are trying to make them change by replacing one thought with another one that we think may be more pure. Rather, it is to understand the nature of our thoughts as thoughts and our relationship to them, so that they can be more at our service rather than the other way round.

We are small, in-process versions of our big creator God. Flowers bloom, waterfalls cascade, cheetahs run fast, and birds fly high; but none of them is made in God’s image—only we are. And not only did He make us, but He also made us with a purpose: to reflect who He is and give Him glory with our lives. I’ll never forget watching the birth of each of my four children. How can it be that these little eternal beings, made in God’s image, who no one but God had ever met before, just popped out and showed up on planet Earth? To this day I still can’t quite comprehend it. I remember in particular the birth of my third child, Emmie. The minute she saw daylight, she looked around as if to say, “What’s going on around here? Who are you guys, and what are you talking about?” Like the rest of us, she will live her God-ordained years on Earth and, I hope, fulfill all the works that God has predestined for her (see Eph. 2:10). Then Emmie will go on to live forever in worlds unknown to carry out the mystery of God’s redemptive cosmic plan. Try to get your brain around that one! Oh, and beyond that, try to fathom the It’s a Wonderful Life phenomenon: The lives of everyone Emmie meets and interacts with during her lifetime will be altered and influenced in some way because she showed up on planet Earth that hot August day in 1997.