God only knows what I'd be without you...

There is just one thing I need...

If you should ever leave me,

well life would still go on believe me,

the world could show nothing to me,

so what good would living do me?

I may not always love you,

but long as there are stars above you,

you never need to doubt it,

I'll make you so sure about it.

Before I knew it...

There are days when I mourn the prospect of another year, another decade, another century. There are nights when I cannot sleep, moments when I lie awake and dream of dying or how my life would change if someone close to me would leave this world. How things would be different if I wasn't here or if you weren't. But then I wake, and see the pink and orange dawn against the clouds, or I hear the lament of a lone fiddle, the music and the melody, and remember there is such beauty in the world. And I don't want us to miss it - any of it. 

Sharp like barbed wire...

Being forgotten, he thinks, is a bit like going mad. You begin to wonder what is real, if you are real. After all, how can a thing be real if it cannot be remembered? What he needs are stories, because they are a way to preserve one's self. To be remembered. And to forget. Stories come in so many forms: in charcoal, and in song, in paintings, poems, films. And books. Stories, he has found, are a way to live a thousand lives - or to find strength in a very long one.

Do you know how to live three hundred years? The same way you live one. A second at a time. And that is how you walk to the end of the world. That is how you live forever. Here is one day, and here is the next, and the next, and you take what you can, savor every stolen second, cling to every moment, until it's gone. And there in the dark, you will ask yourself if it was really worth it. Were the instants of joy worth the stretches of sorrow? Were the moments of beauty worth the year of pain? A life worth having is a life worth taking. Always. 

Home free...

Sparks in the air...

I confess, I have setbacks like anyone. But they don't cause distress or coalesce in a mess, for I've learned to take a breath, to reflect and assess where I'm at and enact a simple plan of attack - to press forward, progress; not digress, not give up nor express my despair but address what I can, my mistakes and my faults. For I'm blessed with my faith and belief and a chest that encases a heart that does not know the meaning of "quit". Me and myself, my reflection and I, we are not of that ilk. We strive to resist and we fight to excel, so setbacks to us are a thing to be quashed, to be quelled, to be squished, to be left in our wake as we go on our way, as we sail right on by to impossible ends. This is why, as my reflection attests, there is no time to rest. The struggle is unending ... but I will give it my best.

Not perfect, but perfect for you...

I think it's twisted but I want some more...

I know you dance the mashed potato fine,

but that don't show me that you're really mine.

Once we start dancing,

we're now romancing.

So put that sucker on extra on the line,

give me gravy,

come and treat me right.

My performance review...

Here's the deal: I'll be what I am in the present. I will leave the past behind; I won't carry blame. I am going to eliminate all anxiety about the future. Prepare to work for my evolution until the last instant of my life. I won't let anyone be my judge; I'll be my own. I'll learn how to fail even better and never speak about myself without allowing myself the possibility to change. I will find ways to accept that nothing is mine and I will become the owner of all. I'll become a total offering. I'll give, but oblige no one to receive. I won't make people feel guilty anymore and I'll be an accomplice to whatever happens. I'll stop asking for things and start thanking. I'll obtain in order to give away.

You're losing me...

He moves from dreamer to dreamer, from dream to dream, hunting for what he needs. Slipping and sliding and flickering through the dreams; and the dreamer will wake, and wonder why this dream seemed different, wonder how real their lives can truly be.

Behind closed eyes, I’m floating against a velvet sky, lungs filled with night air. On some level, I know I'm still in the middle of a fire-warmed chamber, yet my wings pantomime flight on a cool breeze. I'm dancing with her in the heavens, no longer imprisoned by gravity. Fluttering our wings in unison, we twist and whirl a weightless waltz among stars that coil and uncoil in feathery sparks high above in a warped and wonderful landscapes. Each time we spin, then return to each other's arms, I laugh, because at last I'm me.

I could really use you now...

Karr reaches out to catch a teardrop on his fingertip. He holds it up in the pale glow that radiates from the few remaining sprites above. A curious frown curves his lips. They cry for him yet bled for him. One must wonder which is more powerful. More binding. I suppose we shall one day know. And Karr isn't even his true name. He is glory and deprecation - sunlight and shadows - the scuttle of a scorpion and the melody of a nightingale. The breath of the sea and the cannonade of a storm. Can you relay birdsong, or the sound of wind, or the scurry of a creature across the sand? For the proper names of the chosen are made up of the life forces defining them. Can you speak these things with your tongue?

If only you knew...

The bitter taste of his fury...

But I'm in the trees, 

I'm in the breeze,

My footsteps on the ground.

You'll see my face in every place,

through wading grass, the months will pass.

You'll feel it all around,

I'm here, I'm there, I'm everywhere,

but you can't catch me now.

Can't catch me now...

To rock the night away...

These are things I can't change. Not one of them. Can't fix, can't heal, can't put the broken pieces back together. But what I can do is offer myself, wholehearted and present, to walk with the people I love through the fear and the mess. That's all any of us can do. That's what we're here for. Not the battle lines, keeping people in and out. Not the "pro" and "anti" stances, but the presence, the listening, the praying with and for the days when it all falls apart, when life shatters in our hands. I am here. For you. Whenever you'll need.

With the wilt of a rose...

His blood flow, the life-force, the electricity, they're all in there. But what is he going to do with them? This is the only life he's got, so it’s time to move beyond his conditioning. It's time to move beyond his fear or whatever else is holding him back from living fully because that's the way nature meant him to be. His fears are a consequence of a conditioned mind, and they are nothing but a burden. One he must let go.

Here's the thing; when you look for things like love, meaning, motivation, it implies they are sitting behind a tree or under a rock. And I hate that. There's literally nothing there, waiting to be stumbled upon. It gives false hope, and a sense that life is something that happens, not something that is carefully made. We have to create our own love, our own meaning, generate our own motivation. Then hopefully that leads us somewhere we truly want to be. Towards something we are really happy to have. To someone we'd never want to let go.

Fighting for the light inside...

As I place my hand on my heart, I quickly notice that between every heartbeat is the force that beats it. I'd like to think that this force signifies the presence of something greater within me. Something that gives me life, and will one day also take it away. I can never truly define this force, though. It's indefinable, unidentifiable, with no shape or color. I try to focus on it with all my might, trying to figure out what exists in-between each heartbeat. It is then that I start to recognise the glimpse of my true nature. Am for a very short while, I am not so very afraid. 

Just to be lonely...

Can't see the forest through the trees...

Something's got a hold of me lately,

no, I don't know myself anymore.

Feels like the walls are all closing in,

And the devil's knocking at my door.

Don't let it slip...

He didn't know what was defeating him, but he sensed it was something he could not cope with, something that was far beyond his power to control or even at this point in time comprehend. He isn't falling apart, though. He's well beyond that. He's just rattling along now. Doing what little he can to gather the pieces as they fall away. But he doesn't know how to properly reattach them - a doll does not repair itself. So he hugs those brittle fragments to his chest until he simply cannot hug anymore. Until he would have to leave so many behind that he would no longer remember what it is he's missing.

One, two, pandemonium...

Thank you for the day and night, for rainy spells and summer’s light. Thank you for the skies of blue and puffy clouds in grayish hue. Thank you for the gigglefests and midnight’s cloak to hasten rest. Thank you for tomorrow new and yesterday’s tomorrow too. Thank you for "I'm glad we met" and also for "we haven't yet." Thank you for the peace of mind a grateful soul doth always find.

Here's the thing - honey doesn't really taste that good once you get around to eat it. The destination doesn't mean so much once it's reached. The reward only feels rewarding until you get it. Once it's given, we're already thinking about the next. If we add up all the different things we've gotten in life, it wouldn't add to much. But if we add up the spaces between the rewards, we'll come up with quite a bit. And if we add up the rewards and the spaces, then we'll have everything - every minute of the time that we spent.

No rules in breakable heaven...

I've found that the simple act of walking has changed my life. Walking interminably, taking in through your pores the distance, short or far away, when you are confronting them at length, breathing in the shape of the world while finding your way home. The body becomes steeped in the earth and concrete it treads. And thus, gradually, it stops being in the landscape: it becomes the landscape. That doesn't have to mean dissolution, as if the walker were fading away to become a mere inflection, a footnote. It's more a flashing moment: sudden flame, time catching fire. And here, the feeling of eternity is all at once that vibration between presences. Eternity, here, in a spark.

To just be, and not give a shit...

Sometimes we all stutter...

Halfway out the door, but it won't close...

I've felt it from the very start,

it might have been a shot in the darkest dark.

I'm unarmed,

the waiting is a sadness,

fading into madness,

it won't stop.

Now and then...

Inside me there was everything I had believed was above my surface. There was, in particular, the sun and all the colours. There were even the shapes of objects and the distance between them. Everything was there all at once. Movement as well. And light, so much light. It kept growing with such abundance, variety, and intensity that I could almost set myself on fire. After awhile I found that I could create force inside of me so alive, so large, and so near that my eyes, my physical eyes, or what remained of them, vibrated, almost to the point of hurting. I feel the universe inside of me, but not as something religious, nor intellectual or sentimental, but quite simply alive.

Time is passing like a solar eclipse...

I feel as if I have been piling things into my arms for the last twenty years, holding it all, managing it all, doing it all, being it all and suddenly I am looking at the pile, realizing how much of it doesn't belong to me, and hungering to let it drop, to lay it all down, to walk away. Because I'm scared that eventually, the load becomes unbearable and I will be driven into the ground by a weight that I have opened my arms to accept.

Perhaps his hunger to belong is the echo and reverberation of his invisible heritage. He is from somewhere else, where he was known, embraced and sheltered. Something in him knows, perhaps remembers, that eternal belonging liberates longing into its surest and most potent creativity. This is why his longing is often wiser than his conventional sense of appropriateness, safety and truth. His longing desires to take him towards the absolute realisation of all the possibilities that sleep in the clay of his heart; it knows his eternal potential, and it will not rest until it is awakened.

I wish I was me, whatever that is...

I'm not here for long...

Catch me or I go Houdini...

Even though truth is not always expressed, it becomes a reality either way. All there is to do, is continue groping in the dark, while trying not to be worried and hopeless. For every night has a morning to it, and sooner or later I will find the door. If it has been reached before by someone, by anyone, that means that I can reach it too. That's proof enough for me. So the question is not whether truth can be spoken or not, the question is whether a presence can create a conviction that there is something that you are missing - and unless you find it your life will not be complete, will not be perfect.

Come in closer...

Time is passing like a solar eclipse,

it's your moment, don't let it slip.

Tell me all the ways you need me,

I'm not here for long,

catch me or I go Houdini.

Burn it down...

He looked at the sky through heavy smoke and was surprised to find out that the almighty universe was not there. The cold, suffocating dark goes on forever and we are alone. Live our lives, lacking anything better to do. Devise reason later. Born from oblivion; bear children, hell-bound as ourselves, go into oblivion. There is nothing else. Existence is random. Has no pattern save what we imagine after staring at it for too long. No meaning save what we choose to impose. This rudderless world is not shaped by vague metaphysical forces. It's only him. And the wars he is about to wage. 

No rules in breakable heaven...

The leap of faith is this: you have to believe, or at least pretend you believe until you really believe it, that you are strong enough to take life face on. You just avoid thinking about any of the nasty minutiae of the real world, don't get caught up in that awful boring thing, with its bills and laundry and groceries and arguments over whose turn it is to take out the trash and all that. Turns out there is an actual saga going on right in front of you. A grand epic. A tale as old as time. A story of loss and betrayal. Of being lost and found again.

Undecided in the clouds above...

When I’m found I feel lost...

I think some things we must always be unable to bear. Some things we should never just accept and we must never stop refusing to bear them. Injustice and outrage and dishonor and shame. No matter how young or how old we have gotten. Not for kudos and not for some sort of principle: not for pleasing others or for some momentarily glory. We must just refuse to bear them.

A longing to wander tears his heart when he hears trees rustling in the wind at evening. If one listens to them silently for a long time, this longing reveals its kernel, its meaning. It is not so much a matter of escaping from one's suffering, though it may seem to be so. It is a longing for home, for a memory of the one who raised you, for new metaphors for life. Every path leads homeward, every step is birth, every step is death, every grave is a new beginning. 

Open me up...

Did you know that there's a tunnel 

under the boulevard of broken dreams?

Mosaic ceilings, painted tiles on the wall.

I can't help but feel somewhat like my body marred my soul.

Handmade beauty sealed up by two man-made walls.

Let me plead my case...

Pictures and passing time...

I remember,

I remember everything.

One day, it will all make sense, it will all be revealed. Until then, I learn to live and accept my shadows, my déjà vu's, my dreams, my intuition that takes me to places that my mind never conceived, my body only perceived and my soul gladly remembered. Of course, I'm quite worried, stressed, confused and lacking direction at times, but in the same way at peace, stable and walking in the right direction once I get things sorted. I'll give it some time, give it some light, give it some love. I think I'm not very far away.

My fear of heights...

I knew it would come eventually. The backlash. The jealous outbreaks. The grasp for my demise. Yet, despite preparing myself, I am still left a bit shaken. I won't let anyone see it though. I will shrug at it, feign disinterest and hope they don't notice. The less I care, the less chance they have of hurting me, right? But what if it's already too late. What if the machinations being concocted behind my back have already gone too far? There must be a way for me to find out. Being caught off guard is almost as bad as being defeated. I have to carefully anticipate the next step. Make my move before they make theirs. Every next action counts.

I hope you'll understand...

Mine, all mine...

Moon, a hole of light,

through the big top tent up high.

Here before and after me,

shining down on me.

Moon, tell me if I could,

send up my heart to you?

So, when I die, which I must do,

could it shine down here with you?

Lead him up the stairwell...

No longer expecting a saviour...

I am at a point in my life when my heart burns with passion, and my faith is at its peak. I feel like I have my destiny by the horns, and I am at the pinnacle of my preconceived desires materialising in ways I never truly imagined. I force myself to believe beyond my minds eye and see the light, the energy that will fill my half full cup to the brim, and overflow with joyous life experiences. I will think it, see it, and live it. I will expand.

But these type of revelations don't come without a price. Extreme anxiety, fear, exhaustion, and lack of other viable options are what caused me to surrender everything. I found that desperation is the raw material I need for drastic change. Crisis spurs within me critical, dramatic shifts of my psyche. Only when I am willing to lose everything will I have the courage to try. Now that I am desperate, I am dangerous. I am also ripe for transformation.

Just before the summer disappeared...

He had come to that moment in his age when there occurred to him, with increasing intensity, a question of such overwhelming simplicity that he had no means to face it. He found himself wondering if his life were worth the living; if it had ever been. The question brought with it a sadness, but it was a general sadness which had little to do with himself or with his particular fate; he was not even sure that the question sprang from the most immediate and obvious causes, from what his own life had become. It came, he believed, from the accretion of his years, from the density of accident and circumstance, and from what he had come to understand of them. He took a grim and ironic pleasure from the possibility that what little learning he had managed to acquire had led him to this knowledge: that in the long run all things, even the learning that let him know this, were futile and empty, and at last diminished into a nothingness they did not alter.

Don't sleep as good as I used to...

Going to steal some time and start again...

So how do I one day say goodbye,

to someone who's been with me for my whole damn life?

You gave me my name and the color of your eyes,

I see your face when I look at mine,

so how do I, hopefully one day far away, say goodbye?

Can't promise that I'll stay...

I'd like to believe that a little writer's block can be a good thing. Your inner-literary critic's way of gently letting you know you're really stinking up the joint. You're off track. Lost in the weeds. Need to go back and rethink things. Sometimes it's just a matter of temporarily writing yourself out. Life gets too fast, and you can't keep up. Like as of late, my steady spree of ramblings has become a sprint I am barely able to finish. Maybe the tank has suddenly dried up and I don't have anything more to say. I need to take a breather, but my mind doesn't allow me to. I have to find a way to let my subconscious work its magic again and hope that the words will come back to me one day. There simply is no other way.

He puts his foot to the pedal...

All right then, he is claiming the right to be unhappy. Not to mention the right to grow old and ugly and impotent; the right to have dementia and cancer; the right to gain a bit too much weight, the right to be lousy; the right to live in constant apprehension of what may happen tomorrow; the right to be called out for his toxicity; the right to be tortured by unspeakable pains of every kind. He claims them all. He will be savage at last.

Everyone has that moment I think, the moment when something so momentous happens that it rips your very being into small pieces. And then you have to stop. For a long time, you gather your pieces. And it takes such a very long time, not to fit them back together, but to assemble them in a new way, not necessarily a better way. More, a way you can live with until you know for certain that this piece should go there, and that one there.

Tell it to my heart...

As the wheel of time turns, places and people wear many names. Many different faces that disguise themselves as hope and grace and freedom. If you are not careful, they can easily fool you. Set you on a path of falsity and despair. It's so hard to stay the course, because no one knows the great pattern the wheel weaves, or even the pattern of an age. We can only watch, and study, and hope. Yet we shall be born to face our fears, born once more as we were born before and shall be born again, time without end. So let us weep for our salvation.

Down by the river...

Sweet time is on my side...

Ragtime fast lane, 

another overdose.

You know James Dean wasn't playing the role.

I said hey, you, what you gonna do,

when time runs out on you?

Angels don't always have wings...

All I ask as I move forward from what feels like an extremely long and arduous journey, is to fall silently into the spaces that have been left empty so far. The ones either forgotten or destroyed by my blind chase towards my ambitions. My wish is to fill them with a hope that tells me gently at dawn that my simple love can cure even the most extraordinary heart and that my broken past is enough for each tomorrow that follows. Maybe it will even remind me that all the mistakes I will collect over the next year are not as bad as the chances I missed in the last one.

Another one for me...

Wash my soul again...

But why have you fallen - you? What fatal, diabolical causes hindered your life from blossoming into full flower? Why, almost before beginning life, were you in such haste to cast off the image and likeness of the universe, and to become a cowardly beast who backs and scares others because he is afraid himself? You are afraid of life - as afraid of it as you ever were.

I've spent so much of my life wondering why I am here, feeling this ache behind my eyes that my life isn't for anything, that it doesn't mean anything, that the hurt hurts too much and the joy gives too little. But in the shade of a pine tree overlooking the ocean, I'm able to feel, if only in moments, why I am here - that I am here to pay attention. I am here to hold my partners hands and tell him it's going to be okay, even though I have no idea if it will. And most of all, I am here to be. I am here to be with you, to be with my family, and even to be with the sea. The gift is being itself, and who better to show me that than she who left so long ago. 

Don't get angry at me...

Devils roll the dice...

In my mind, I built stairways. At the end of the stairways, I imagined rooms. These were high, airy places with big windows and a cool breeze moving through. I imagined one room opening brightly onto another room until I'd built a house, a place with hallways and more staircases. I built many houses, one after another, and those gave rise to a city - a calm, sparkling city near the ocean. I put myself there, and that's where I lived, in the wide-open sky of my mind. I made friends and read books and went running on a footpath in a jewel-green park along the harbour. I ate pancakes drizzled in chocolate and took baths and watched sunlight pour through trees. This wasn't longing, and it wasn't insanity. It was relief. It got me through.

Barefoot, walking in the grass...

Whether rain or snow, 

you know I'll follow your lead.

I know that you're the one that I need,

When I'm lost in my thoughts, 

you're my wildest of dreams,

and I've found it in you, 

you're my missing piece.

Down comes the claw...

Time passes so fast. I really try to make time to be still. And while I do, I imagine what it must be like to stay hidden, disappear in the dusky nothing and stay still in the night. It's not sadness, though it may sound like it. I'm thinking about people and trees and how I wish I could be silent more, be more tree than anything else, less clumsy and loud, less crow, more cool white pine, and how it's hard not to always want something else, not just to let the savage grass grow.