Feeling a Little Grey?

In the beginning, God spoke light into existence. There is a light that shines brightly like the sun, yellow, big, and blinding. Then there are the stars which are like silver disco balls hanging in the navy blue sky. Then comes my favorite type of light which extends from curves of the moon. The moon's light does not pierce the iris like the rays of the sun. It is grey like the softness of water. The moon borrows light from the sun and might not be as potent as the sun. However, it can still be seen and has its own spotlight during the night. When you're feeling a little "grey" just remember that you are an extension of a greater happiness but  for now, you're just borrowing someone's light: very soon you will have your own light.

I sincerely believe that God has woven various lesson for mankind through nature. The story of salvation can clearly be seen here. Like the moon, human beings are in a world of darkness but our greatest source of light comes from the sun(Jesus). We borrow our strength and our wisdom from this light and become like the moon.  Even in the greatest amount of darkness one can still identify the moon. It's just that simple. What's your source of light?

Fashion Tip: Grey/silver/ash works like black thus always(all generalizations are FALSE including this one) wear bold colors when you wear grey.

The Second Coming

Sometimes we need to take some time off to consider what life is really about! Food for thought! 

THE SECOND COMING
by William Butler Yeats
    Turning and turning in the widening gyre
    The falcon cannot hear the falconer;
    Things fall apart; the centre cannot hold;
    Mere anarchy is loosed upon the world,
    The blood-dimmed tide is loosed, and everywhere
    The ceremony of innocence is drowned;
    The best lack all conviction, while the worst
    Are full of passionate intensity.
 
     Surely some revelation is at hand;
    Surely the Second Coming is at hand.
    The Second Coming! Hardly are those words out
    When a vast image out of Spiritus Mundi
    Troubles my sight: a waste of desert sand;
    A shape with lion body and the head of a man,
    A gaze blank and pitiless as the sun,
    Is moving its slow thighs, while all about it
    Wind shadows of the indignant desert birds.
   
    The darkness drops again but now I know
    That twenty centuries of stony sleep
    Were vexed to nightmare by a rocking cradle,
    And what rough beast, its hour come round at last,
    Slouches towards Bethlehem to be born?