The Language of Love

"Let me tell you that in these corners live strange people - dreamers. The dreamer - if you want an exact definition - is not a human being, but a creature of an intermediate sort. For the most part he settles in some inaccessible corner, as though hiding from the light of day; once he slips into his corner, he grows to it like a snail, or, anyway, he is in that respect very much like that remarkable creature, which is an animal and a house both at once, and is called a tortoise"  -- Fyodor Dostoyevsky

To a cloistered dreamer, writing activates the imagination. Common life beams through an uncommon lens. It's the art of revealing the sub-currents of human interaction. Its beauty is unstained by adversity and loss. It provides moments where reverie transcends the demands and cares of life. 

What does the unbeaten path of contemplation look like to you? When do you get to express the Tolstolian soliloquies of life? With whom are you able to share the passion of the subtle and often overlooked spiritual realm? Whom can you relate to who has an open attitude promoting nurturing and emotional fitness?

-- Reflector