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.