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Four young men on a rooftop in 1969,
Putting on a show for the very last time.

Not the last for any,
but this was the fab fours end.

Four old men under thirty,
about to start again.

People pointing fingers,
people laying blame.

Surely it can't be over
they'll Get Back again.

They'll travel back down that
Long and Winding Road.

Back to Penny Lane,
where it started so long ago.

Imagine the world without the Beatles,
I wonder if you can.

I remember four young men on a rooftop,
being great again.

Wanting to prove it to the world,
Before they let it end.

Before they let it go,
Before they Let it Be.

And that's the memory of
the Beatles,
I'll always choose to see.
I watched all 9 hours of Peter Jacksons
(Get Back) for the third time. And what always strikes
me is that The Beatles were just Kids not even 30 yet,
trying to find themselves, trying to live up to the expectations
of the world.
It's a hell of a documentary and a must see if you're a Beatles fan.

here's a link to the video on you tube check it out.
https://youtu.be/mLXbZf-rttM?feature=shared

Thanks.
It is possible to speak with our heart directly. Most
ancient cultures know this. We can actually converse
with our heart as if it were a good friend. In modern life
we have become so busy with our daily affairs and
thoughts that we have lost this essential art of taking
time to converse with our heart.
Jack Kornfield
Somehow
the first sign of
daylight dissolved
my good intentions,
nothing at all seemed
to shine, every thought
was filtered through
dark water, the sun was
painted grey, my dreams
were cold as distant
mountains, I washed my
face in the silent river,
I ignored its imperfections
I ignored my own.
I listen to the stories
of the forest,
I walked away my sadness
in the rain …
Clay.M
She exhaled—
and the world unraveled,
spores lifting like soft lanterns,
to a sky too wide to hold them.

Between her fingers,
a single stem, hollow-*****,
the ghost of something once golden,
its crown now a hush of white.

She watched—
how the wind took what it wanted,
how even silence knows how to scatter.

Somewhere, far beyond
a wish landed
and called itself a flower again.

'Even endings, hold beginnings.'
I'm getting used to being alone again,
To noiseless evenings, torturing by coolness,
To sickening evenings with their twinkle stars,
Which harshly tear my soul by stuffy stillness.

I'm getting used to being alone again,
Alone with Chopin in all the evenings long.
I fall upon my pillow and shut off,
And in the morning my alarm's 'ding-****'

Well now, hello, my dear, and come in.
Where've you got lost, my sweet and precious friend?
We'll wade through whole life with you, my loneliness,
From this time forth up even to the end.
Loneliness is a very interesting state. I would even say that at times it is very valuable, despite the stuffiness and hopelessness. I appreciate it. Maybe that's why it visits me from time to time. And it is in this state that I can be with myself and myself.
Thank you very much for reading! 💖
Love,
in its calm,
feels like breathing,
quiet,
steady,
always there.
Calm love should feel like the early morning light, - soft, steady, and effortless, isn't it???
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