Vast Fields Of Ordinary Quotes

Its hard to show people everything, you know? You never know what they'll do with it once they have it.

Love. People threw that word around like carzy.

The world is vast and meant for wandering. There is always somewhere else to go.

gettimg attached to things is pointless. Thats how things get screwed up.People care to much about everything. Let it go. You'll be happier.

I think some love you can stand to let go of because it's ultimately for the best, but other types you have to stick with until the day you die even when it's hard.You have to think about that before you run away from wherever you are. And then when you know, you either stay or you go and pray thatyou're making the right decision.

Dade Kincaid is not afraid of the things of which the world is made.

Let it all out. If only I could. Letting it all out would involve me exploding like a firework, a beautiful riot of rainbow sparks bouncing around the car and lighting up the entire lot.

Sprawled out on the front lawn Looking up at an ordinary sky It could fall on me and somehow be The day I didn't die

I stopped wanting to float away from my life, because in the end my life was all I had. I'd walk the Fairmont campus and look up to the sky and I wouldn't see myself drifting off like some lost balloon. Instead I saw the size of the world and found comfort in its hugeness. I'd think back to those times when I felt like everything was closing in on me, those times when I thought I was stuck, and I realized that I was wrong. There is always hope. The world is vast and meant for wandering. There is always somewhere else to go.

I felt the vacuum in him. It was the same as the one in me. It wanted, but it didn’t know what it wanted, so it pulled at everything.

I looked in the mirror and stared at my reflection, until I was in the head-clearing trance that comes when you stare at something for a long time.

Dads are the appendix of humanity. They should just be taken out before they start causing problems.

It was the first time someone had given me everything I wanted and asked for so little in return.

I was vaguely worried about how they would cope with wandering the desert of adulthood without the other's hand to hold, but then I remembered that they never appeared to give each other that much comfort in the first place, or at least if they had, those days were buried so far in the past that it was hard to consider them a meaningful part of their life.

I practiced saying I was gay to inanimate objects around the house. I told the soap dish in the bathroom, the ceiling fan above my bed, the blue drinking glass I favored above all the others simply because over the years its entire family had perished one by one during various interactions with hard surfaces around the kitchen and I'd convinced myself our solitude was linked. "I'm gay," I told these things. "I'm a homo." I would wait for the orphaned drinking glass to shatter, the ceiling fan to drop, or for the soap dish to let out a bloodcurdling scream. But nothing ever happened. The world went on as ever.

I was touched that he'd brought me here. I didn't know what to say. Up until then there was a part of me that wondered if maybe there was nothing more to him than an aura of danger and a disposable charm that he used to keep himself from getting into too much trouble. I was beginning to realize that like everyone else, he was searching for something, and like everyone else, he had no idea where he could find it. Thanks for bringing me here," I said. " It really means a lot me." Does it?" he asked. He seemed genuinely surprised by this. "I'm glad. I wasn't sure if you'd get it. I thought maybe you'd think it was creepy." No," I said quickly. "Not at all. I like that there's these different parts to you." Good," he said, smiling. "It's hard to show people everything, you know? You never know what they'll do with it once they have it.

Love. People threw that word around like crazy.

The truckers are staring," I said after a few seconds. It was true. They were. The whole row of them was doing a bad job of pretending not to look at us. "We just got engaged," Lucy shouted over to them. "I just asked this man to be my wife." The men at the counter traded confused looks. I burst out laughing. "We're glad you and your ass cracks could share this moment with us," she went on. "Seriously. We really are. Those are serious cracks and this is a serious moment.

Was he coming to bury the hatchet? Was there a hatchet to even be buried? For some reason I started thinking of how weird it was that I would always be his son and he would always be my father, that there was nothing that could ever change. I didn't know whether this permanence was comforting or terrifying.

The world is vast and meant for wandering.

Getting older isn’t always about having fun,” he said. “In fact, in many ways it’s about being bored. It’s good if you can find a way to be entertained by your boredom.

I was begining to realize that like everyone else, he was searching for something, and like everyone else, he had no idea where he could find it.

how easily a man who has never been in any great distress, may pass through life without knowing, in his own person at least, anything of the possible goodness of the human heart - or, as I must add with a sigh, of its possible vileness. So a thick curtain of manners is drawn over the features and expression of men's natures, that to the ordinary observer, the two extremities, and the infinite field of varieties which lie between them, are all confounded - the vast and multitudinous line of differences expressed in the gamut or alphabet of elementary sounds.

For some reason I didn't believe it. I don't know why. Maybe it was because my father was the kind of person who told himself things over and over until he believed them, who could justify almost anything. What I wanted was for it to really be okay. I wanted him to really not care, to maybe even be happy about it. Instead he was acting like I was making a bad career choice, like I was passing up an English degree at Fairmont in favor of a bartending certificate at the local community college.

It's hard to show people everything, you know? You never know what they'll do with it once they have it.

And a million other distractions. Whenever that happens, I return my attention back to center. It’s like tuning to a radio station. I can easily lose the signal and let the dial wander to a different station, one filled with anxiety and stress. But I know what the bliss station feels like. I know the music it plays and how my body feels when I’m absorbed in it. Because I’ve been to the center so many times, I can usually find that station just a few minutes after I close my eyes. So I tune in there again now. I feel an immediate expansiveness in my consciousness, a sense of connection with the entire universe. I feel a sense of welcome, as though I’ve come home. I’m living at the address in consciousness where perfect well-being is the only reality. As I retune myself to center, another wave of bliss floods through my brain, mind, and body. I feel my consciousness lift out of my normal state, like a balloon rising in the wind, to meet and merge with a consciousness so vast and expansive that it has no end. I know that this is the same intelligence that runs the universe in such perfect order. It has a sense of rightness to it that all the cells in my body respond to. Every cell knows it’s come home, that it’s connected to the universal consciousness with which my mind has merged. The local reality field of my mind and body surrenders to union with the great nonlocal reality field of the universe. There is no room in this consciousness for worry, doubt, or fear. The anxious thoughts with which I began the meditation session are now left far behind me, as the balloon soars high above the world of ordinary local reality. My breath slows and deepens. Every breath is a connection with that great universal consciousness. Every inbreath flows out of that consciousness, while every outbreath flows into that consciousness. A warm feeling of well-being floods my body. Though the cool morning air felt chilly when I began the meditation, my body is now infused with the glow of connection. As I center myself again and again, I notice an intense glistening silver-white vortex of light above my head. I drift up through the portal. I find myself in a level of undifferentiated light. I look down at my mind, and it is flooded with that same white light. I am in Bliss Brain. Everything dissolves into the light. There’s no body, no me, no mind, no universe. Only the light. The light simply is. It has no beginning and no end. It stretches to infinity. It’s all there is; there’s nothing else in this real world of light other than the light. I lose myself in oneness with the light. 2.1. Entering Bliss Brain. There’s a tingling pressure in the center of my forehead where the connection to the light tunnel is strongest. Angelic music echoes in my brain, sound adding itself to light. My