Let me know what's the play...

There's no such thing as a painless lesson, they just don't exist. Sacrifices are necessary; you can't gain anything without losing something first. If you can endure that pain, and walk away from it you'll find that you now have a heart strong enough to overcome any obstacle. Just like a phoenix, which is supposed to  represent dying and coming back as something new, but I disagree. I think it's a symbol of surviving when the world burns down around us. It's a reminder that no challenge can destroy the parts of us that truly matter. We're not reborn in the flames. We're revealed.

Too long I've been afraid of losing love...

He must continue to follow the path he takes now. If he does nothing, if he ceases searching, then, woe is him, he is lost. That is how he looks at it - just keep going, keep going come what may. But what is his final goal, you may ask. That goal will become clearer, will emerge slowly but surely, much as the rough draught turns into a sketch, and the sketch into a painting through the serious work done on it, through the elaboration of the original vague idea and through the consolidation of the first fleeting and passing thought.

My thoughts are either focused on what's eternal, life-changing, and true, or lost in the details of my temporary, selfish, false beliefs. Life is uncertain. Eternity is not. Unforgiveness cannot be allowed to last another day, as it's slowly eating me alive. The last few months have been brutal because of it. Constantly searching for answer to questions not really important anymore. I cannot change what I cannot understand, and because of that I must instead learn to forgive, and move on. Let it go. Kill the root of bitterness. Let the hurt go and set myself free. 

Born with a broken heart...

Dancing in the flames...

Everything's faded, 

we barely made it.

The fire's raging, 

but you're still beautiful,

and it's amazing,

because I can taste it,

our final odyssey.

In such total devastation...

The universe extends, for all practical purposes, forever. After a brief sedentary hiatus, he is resuming his nomadic way of life. To search and explore the many paths laid out before him, unified by the potential to lead him to a higher purpose, by their regard for their his ambitions, and by the knowledge that, whatever other life may come from following each of them, he is the catalyst in all of them. As he travels, he will gaze up and strain to find the blue dot in their skies. He will marvel at how vulnerable the repository of all his hope once was, how perilous his infancy, how humble his beginnings, how many rivers he had to cross before he found his way.

Hold your chest, let yourself breathe...

However late you think you are, however many chances you think you have missed, however many mistakes you feel you have made or talents you think you don't have, or however far from home and family you feel you have traveled, I testify that you have not traveled beyond the reach of the will of the universe. It is not possible for you to sink lower than the infinite wisdom that fate shines upon us. The universe is eagerly waiting for the chance to answer your prayers and fulfill your dreams, just as it always has. But it can't if you don't dream. If you believe it, it will find a way. 

If this world were mine...

I found that for all of the most important things in my life, the timing seems to either be perfect or completely out of whack. I can go from being utterly bedazzled by how fate aligns with my circumstances to being baffled by the sheer audacity of the onslaught of challenges thrown my way. Is the universe conspiring against me? Or I am the maker of my own design? I don't care so much about someday, I care about today. And boy, does it look sunny outside.

It is not true that fate slips silently into his life. It steps in through the door that he has opened, and he invites it to enter. He will invent himself and then reinvent himself and stay out of the clutches of mediocrity. Invent himself and then reinvent himself, change his tone and shape so often that they can never categorize him. Reinvigorate himself and accept what is but only on the terms that he has invented and reinvented. He will be self-taught. and reinvent his life because he must; it is his life and his history and the present belong only to him.

Give me some love tonight...

I hope I don't live to regret it...

Something has changed within mе,

something is not the same,

I'm through with playing by

the rules of someone else's game.

Too late for second-guessing,

too late to go back to sleep,

It's time to trust my instincts,

close my eyes and leap.

It's time to try defying gravity.

Hey now, say now...

If this world was mine...

He is living as if destined to live forever; his own frailty never occurs to him; he doesn't notice how much time has already passed, but squanders it as though he had a full and overflowing supply, though all the while that very day which he is devoting to somebody or something may be his last. He acts like mortals in all that he fears, and like immortals in all that he desires. He puts off things he really wants to do until or he thinks he can take a break only when he earns a certain amount of money, or buys a new home, or gets to become a father or reconcile his family. Not really contemplating that it ties him to working until he falls apart, perhaps doing something he hates, for as long as he can hold on.

Wish it weren't true...

I'm both sad and angry, disappointed and hurt. Ironically, it has nothing to do with me directly, yet I've never felt such a whirlwind of emotions. I might have to revalue my commitment to myself. But seeing what I deem so unfathomably unfair happen to my parents is making me question a lot of my own choices. Are the people I've surrounded myself with capable of doing the same to me? Can any of my actions lessen the blows being struck against them? Should I somehow take up arms and fight in their stead? What can I do, to make it okay? 

Lost my mind, no one noticed...

It seemed a lamp died somewhere. That from the cool, damp air the light was suddenly, soundlessly subtracted. I was sitting on the verge of a dream. Had I been younger I would have been content to sleep there. And in that drowsy, comfortable state I had a strange, habitual feeling, that the sun would wake me gently. I indulged that feeling. I half closed my eyes. And waited.

Often afterward, I tried to remember those moments. Tried over and over to recall just what it was that began to disturb me, should have disturbed me. How, being off my guard, I was somehow insensible to the subtle changes which must have been taking place in my life. But deluded with larger concerns, I made no note of them as they were so clearly happening. A lamp gone out, a candle extinguished by the shiver of its own hot pool of wax. My eyes half shut, I had the sense then of impending darkness. And then I opened my eyes, not thinking of lamps or candles. And it was too late.

I'm sorry for all the pain...

There's ghosts in the windows and walls...

Remember telling me I was gonna hit the big time?

Then you died, guess it was too good to be true.

Remember, sitting at the table, you 

talking about your old regrets?

It seems the quiet dreams have gotten much too heavy

but I'm home now, 

and I'll hold on through the pain.

I see my whole life...

Knock yourself out...

And so the wait begins. 

Again and again.

He is encouraged to take the plunge into the unknown and discover the mystery of his own life where every action becomes an effortless, appropriate response to whatever life brings him. And as he tries to peer into his future, he imagines things too big for words; and so he stumbles. A condensation of myths that become a flat crystallized mass. His reality is a rounded thing that pulses. It overflows the mold of words. He cannot tell what they are doing. He can only radiate himself. That is his form of expression. Take it as truth, as you pass by this thing that is not a blog: he is yours.

That's so true...

I think I need a purge of my fantasies because it's starting to feel like I've stuck my head in the sand while everything is falling down around me. I can't ignore the damage. I have to track the exact trajectory of the hurricane because knowing the precise moment it'll hit and where will make things hurt less. At least, my brain is convinced this is so. The world outside feels so insubstantial and irrelevant, like a video game environment that's still buffering. Sometimes, I do manage to forget it all for a moment, but then my focus slips, and then my breathing quickens, and my head swims, and once again, the fantasy takes hold. Paradoxically it's the only thing that calms things down.

Only heaven knows...

Have a little too much of something terrible...

He thinks he cannot live anymore. That the light of his soul has been put out and that he will stay in the dark forever. But when he is engulfed by such solid darkness, when he has both eyes closed to the world, a third eye opens in his heart. And only then does he come to realize that eyesight conflicts with inner knowledge. No eye sees so clear and sharp as the eye of hope. After grief comes another season, another valley, another him. 

I know, I know. I've sent too many things into the universe and now am I bargaining with it for at least a few to come true, while in fact, none will probably see the light of reality. They're all such great fantasies though. Some of the best I've ever conjured. And even if they will probably never be found, I will keep them with me everywhere I go. I'll see them in the drop of water that falls into the ocean, in the high tide that follows the waxing of the moon, or in the morning wind that spreads its fresh smell; I'll see them in the symbols in the sand, in the tiny particles of rock glittering under the sun, or in your throbbing vein. How can my dreams be taken away, when I see them in everything?

Story to tell hallelujah...

I don't always feel it,

but that's when I need it the most,

I'm going to keep on singing,

until my soul catches up with my song.

There's times when my hands go up freely,

and times that it costs,

there's days when a praise comes out easy,

and days when it takes all the strength I've got.

That's so true...

She once told me that there are fragments within me that are the same age as the universe. That a part of my souls has been passed on for eons. Small shards that retained their initial brightness and purpose. Made from the tears of the universe as it wept when it saw the beauty of its creation. And because of those small pieces, we can never truly be destroyed. A part of us will live forever and ever. Finding connections, seeking out others to fill the mosaic of your existence. Breathing joy, celebrating living, and becoming perhaps something greater than your initial self. Greater than the sum of your parts.

You were right there all along...

Sam na oblaku

ne pustim dnevu da se budi,

vrtiljak trenutkov izmišljenih.

Maybe this was life in essence, time in its shrouded malleability. All of it a microcosmic round as the universe begged him to listen to its only message; none of it matters but love. So he allowed himself to feel it all: the fear, the anger, the sorrow, the subtle beauty leaking in through the cracks, the everythingness of pain, and in the end the love wrapped around it, soft and loud and invisible. All of it intrinsically connected, each moment a shared experience. Perfection was simply loving himself while broken, to move forward while still human. To strive for nothing but accepting exactly where he was at. To simply be here, now.

I hope you find your way home...

Time is cruel and incredibly brief. It is both merciful and patient while being fragile and easily broken. It is bright and way too fast. Autumn doesn't last long at all, and just adds to the quite funny arc that is our life. Knowing fear as a child, being completely bewildered by the sheer scale of our world. To conquering yourself as a young adult, and finding ways to make a difference. To going back around to fear in your older years and knowing that your initial assessment had always been right. Life was an endless churn of helplessness and fear we had no control over. If only I could learn to swim my way through it.

I will be the one who's stronger...

Love me to my bones...

Time stood still,

just like a photograph,

you made me feel like this would last forever.

Looking in your eyes,

I see my whole life,

They say you know it when you know it, 

and I know.

Promise that you'll hold me close, 

don't let me go.

It's not on you, it's in you...

Taking my mask off...

I'm here to tell you, and myself as well, that if at any given moment we feel like we're too much, there's still a place for us here. If you feel too much, don't go. If the world gets too painful, stop and rest. If you need a break, it's okay to stop for a while. This life is not a contest, not a race, not a performance, not a thing that you win. It's okay to slow down. We are here for more than a job, more than a promotion, more than keeping up, more than getting by. This life is not about status or opinion or appearance and we don’t have to fake it.

And I know this isn't a revolutionary thought. A lot of us feel this way. It's just good to be reminded that if your heart is broken, it's okay to stare at the shattered pieces on the floor. If you feel stuck, it's okay to take your time wiggling yourself out. If you can't let go, it's okay to stubbornly hold on. We are not alone in these places and we are more than just our pain. We are more than wounds, more than drugs, more than death and silence. There is still some time to be surprised. There is still some time to ask for help. There is still some time to start again. There is still some time for love to find you. It's not too late. If you feel too much, there's still a place for you here. If you feel too much, don't go. There is still some time.

Finger on the pulse...

It's not what you look at that matters; it's what you see. And my perspective was now open to uncertainty. And where there was uncertainty, there was also possibility, whatever the present looked like. I see so very clearly the life I could lead, the lives I could change, the memories I could make. But the path to this paradise is hidden. I occasionally see the outskirts of a path, but as quickly as it manifests, it slips from sight. There is something out there for me. To take as my own. To use. To redefine. I will not fear, and I will continue to grasp towards it. I think I can see something in the dark. 

May he be forgiven...

For the first time, it's really evident to me that as much as I might desire change, I have to be willing to take a risk, to let go of the past. In other words, I have to finish what I started. And then what? This isn't so much about time on my hands as about life in my hands. And it's life as currency. Where am I going to spend it? What’s the best value? I'm limited only by what I can dream and allow myself to risk. It seems pointless to go on for the sake of going on, if there isn't some larger idea, some sense of enhancing the lives of others. I have so many plans and fantasies of how the world could be a better place. But no idea how to get there.

Going somewhere sane...

That's just the way life goes,

I like to slam doors closed.

Trust me, I know it's always about me,

I love you, 

I'm sorry.

Dance with me one more time...

Losing track of days...

The endless void of space stretched out before him. Millennia had passed as he roared through the planes of the galaxy. The awesome ellipse of his original path was continually altered by intermittent proximity to myriad stars. He gave off minute bits of himself as he rocketed silently through the vacuum of space, but still, after all these millennia, he was counted large as such things were measured, and the fact that he had never collided with anything else after such a tremendous interval of travel was a mute testimony to the vastness and comparative emptiness of the universe.

Much as the people around him, he is comprised mainly of space, not of matter, so the universe, for all its galaxies and solar systems, is comprised primarily of interconnecting emptiness. Dark, colossal, mindless, and mighty, he came on and on through space. The great alignment had set him on his path. Now, one last nudge had fixed the remainder of his course on a fateful rendezvous. Though he was oblivious to his own destination and nothing in the universe with awareness had yet detected him. His path was set.

Something's got a hold of me lately...

Time breaks your heart...

It really hurts to let go. It seems the harder you try to hold on to something, the more it wants to get away. You feel like some kind of criminal for having felt, for having wanted. For having wanted to be wanted. It confuses you, because you think that your feelings were wrong and it makes you feel so small because it's so hard to keep it inside when you let it out and it doesn't come back. You're left with a feeling of loneliness that can't really be explained. Damn, there's nothing like that, is there? 

Don't let the curtain catch you...

Dredging of great white sharks, 

swimming in the bed.

And here comes a killer whale, 

to sing me to sleep.

Thrashing the covers off, 

has me by its teeth.

A ship to wreck...

Might not be forever...

Being alive is finite. That which exists must be finite. That which does not exist is infinite potential. The potential is potential existence. That which may exist already exists in a different form. The infinite potential is the ability of the being always to be new. Nothingness exists in the form of nonexistence. Existence of nonexistence exists. Infinity of the finite is the secret of existence. The very finiteness of the eye of the universe leads to infinity. Only nothing is infinite in its endlessness. Its endlessness is its end. The nothingness of itself and for itself is absolute.

Hold his chest, let it breathe...

Sometimes, I'm overwhelmed by it all, the vastness of this life, the absolute miracle that I exist at this moment in time. How much magic is out in the universe, stretching beyond what the eye can see, reaching distances the mind can't even comprehend? Yet I am here. I am alive. 

When it comes to success, he can't ever get enough. His entire self-worth is based on it, and he tends to go from victory to victory to avoid feeling awful. In a way, it's pure homeostasis at work. The buzz from triumph is neutralized quickly, leaving him in a state of hangover and angst. Knowing he will be looking for the bump again very soon, his brain ultimately adjusts to a baseline feeling of anti-success. After a while, he needs it constantly just to not feel like a failure. He will run and run but make no real progress toward his goal - simply avoiding being thrown off the back from stopping or slowing down.

It's okay, I'm okay...

When it's all said and done...

I am not okay,

I'm barely getting by,

I'm losing track of days,

and losing sleep at night.

I am not okay,

I'm hanging on the rails,

so if I say I'm fine,

just know I learned to hide it well.

Listen to the ones that love you...

Don't prove I'm right...

He hopes he'll get to see you again one day, and that you'll say sorry, and he'll tell you you're forgiven. He hopes he'll find all the pieces of his mind that fell out of his head over all these years, and that he'll be able to put himself back together again. I hope the echoes of pain will fade, and the memories of sorrow will die, and that he'll have visitors when he's old and grey. And he hopes you'll have a happy ending of your own. For who could think of hell without hope?

I move too fast...

I'm starting to get really hurt by the injustice of how his life turned out. He did everything right as a son, a brother, a husband, and a father. And then being dealt this hand so late in life? Cruel and unnecessary. And the worst part is, I don't think there's basically anything I can do about it. Perhaps most of all, I should not make it about myself and learn to live with this hurt, stand up, and move on as he will undoubtedly have to. It's what I'll do now. It's what I’ll do tomorrow and the next day. For however long this fight goes on. Just stand up. And I rise slowly to my feet. Heavy and shackled with weight. I still move. 

Please, please, please...

He was afraid, but he knew now: fear usually meant he was standing on the edge of something new, something self-altering, something potentially good. Fear was not something he would never shy away from ever again. Because life is full of near misses and absolute hits, of great love and small disasters. It's made up of ice cream and tears and your face slowly getting older. It's dead-ordinary and truly truly amazing. What he's realized is it's all here now. So he takes a deep breath and swallows it whole, for life; it just whizzes by.

There is a pattern in all things that are part of our universe. It has symmetry, elegance, and grace. You can find it in the turning of the seasons, the way sand trails along a ridge, in the branch clusters of a berry bush or the pattern of a leaf. We try to copy these patterns in our lives, seeking the rhythms, the dances, and the forms that comfort us. Yet, it is possible to see peril in the finding of ultimate perfection. The ultimate pattern contains its own fixity. In such perfection, all things move towards death. 

As foolish as he can be...

There's always a joker in the pack,

there's always a lonely clown,

the poor laughing fool falls on his back,

and everyone laughs when he's down.

There's always a funny man in the game,

but he's only funny by mistake,

and everyone laughs at him just the same,

they don't see his lonely heartbreak.

I'm the joker now...

Dancing in the flames...

Lost in the words that he screams...

A great burden awaits him on his path. Soon, the dice of fate will be rolled once more. Is he strong enough to face the tests placed in his path? Is he strong enough to save his family? His heart beats furiously. He has to beware of the lord of shadow, while seeking the twin flames. And then he must figure out why he keeps returning to beginnings - why he seeks the single thread he might pull to unravel the tapestry of his life in the hope that behind it he will find the truth of why. But there is no truth. There is only why. And when he looks closer he will see that behind that why is just another tapestry. And behind it another, and another, until he arrives at oblivion.

I need plenty more...

In all important transformations of life we have to take a leap in the dark. If I decide to leave the riddles unanswered or if we waver in our answer, that is a choice I make at our peril. If I choose to turn my back altogether on the will of the universe, no one can show beyond reasonable doubt that I am mistaken. I stand on a mountain pass in the midst of whirling snow and blinding mist through which I get glimpses now and then of paths that may be deceptive. If I stand still I shall be frozen to death. If I take the wrong road, I shall be dashed to pieces. What must I do? Simply act for the best, hope for the best, and take what comes, and if death ends all, I cannot meet death better.

And it looks like it's all unraveling...

Because when I'm seeing double,

It's your lullaby love that keeps me from trouble,

It's your lullaby love that's keeping me level,

It's your lullaby love that keeps me awake.

An avenue once bent in shadow...

Swim against the tide...

I want to change things on my own terms, to show that there's no right or wrong way to change the world. There's no entry test. I don't need to suck anything up. Pay any dues. Just me and my anger and my voice is enough. If I only have the courage to use it.

It was like he'd climbed Everest, had the summit in his sight, the flag in his hand, all ready to pierce it into the top of the mountain and proclaim victory. And then, out of nowhere, perhaps from the heavens themselves, an avalanche swept him right back to the bottom of the hill again. As he lay underneath tons of snow, he wondered if it was even worth bothering to free himself and climb it again? He was exhausted. So profoundly out of breath. He'd already climbed it. He didn't want to do it again, but what other choice was there?

Sweating through the sheets...

Here's a short recap of his state of mind: when he fights for what he believes in, he comes across a lot of obstacles. People who don't agree with him, people who agree with him but only some bits, people who delight in ripping him down, people who are threatened by the strength of his belief. But he was beginning to realise, the biggest hurdle to overcome was the hurdle of himself. The true test of life isn't how he copes when everything is going in his favour; it's how he deals with things that could destroy him, if he lets them.

It's the last call...

That's the thing about anxiety. You can worry about anything and everything, dream up all sorts of weird and wonderful situations to be terrified of in the hope your fear will control the world somehow ... and yet the world remains uncontrollable. So we all carry on with scars and scorch marks around with us. We cuddle up each night with ghosts of damaging memories - we let them swirl around our heads, never able to settle or heal because we can't make sense of this terrible thing that happened to us, and why we're finding it so impossible to get over. You can't force pain to leave until it's ready to.

Give me all you've got...

It might seem crazy,

what I'm about to say.

happiness she's here, 

you can take a break.

I'm a hot air balloon 

that could go to space.

With the air, 

like I don't care by the way.

Everything that hurts me is still the same...

Not like us...