Jo Boniszewski

The sky was the color of hard crimson, dripping down a canvas, the moon splashed silver across red. Her soothing balm healing my soul in swathes of calmness, I breathe in her tides and let my body be washed ashore, lying in the sands of eternity.

Stay with me,’ he said, ‘until the sun goes out, the seas are parched, and the wind draws its last breath.

Your fingers caress my heart strings, shaping a silent sonnet in notes of love. Transcending space and time, bathing the ether in perfect harmony.

Standing beneath this immense, bejeweled, star-spangled dome, breathing in its life, boundaries fall away, possibilities open up and my wings unfold. And I thought that you were the one who was the angel.

In this magical hour, as the black ink sky fades to forget-me-not grey and the Cyprus trees emerge from the shadows, I tune in to my heart. In clarity, I choose to step into freedom to bring lightness of being and to be love.

All those moments are alive in us today. We may not visit them anymore, very often, but we carry them in our DNA, our blood, our bones; informing the breadth and beauty of who we now are; our lesson to be lived.

Solitude is impractical and yet society is fatal.

Walk as if you are kissing the Earth with your feet.

A broad margin of leisure is as beautiful in a man’s life as in a book. Haste makes waste, no less in life than in housekeeping. Keep the time, observe the hours of the universe, not of the cars.

The beginning of compunction is the beginning of a new life.

You cannot be a hero without being a coward.

Every revolution was first a thought in one man’s mind.

I do not say that I’ll depart tomorrow because even today I still arrive.

Whatever limits us we call fate.

If you try to please everybody, somebody’s not going to like it.

Truth is the daughter of time, not of authority.

The self divides into ten billion distinct illuminating spirits. Distinguish these without falling into names and classifications.

Blows are sarcasm’s turned stupid.

Melancholy, indeed, should be diverted by every means but drinking.

Disappointment, when it involves neither shame nor loss, is as good as success; for it supplies as many images to the mind, and as many topics to the tongue.

The sea, washing the equator and the poles, offers its perilous aid, and the power and empire that follow it… Beware of me, it says, but if you can hold me, I am the key to all the lands.