I'll hold on until now...

Head in the clouds, but no closer to the sun...

I'm starting to question 

if the universe is trying to teach me a lesson.

I'm starting to wonder 

if my true colors changed since I left.

I used to shine bright like gold, 

now I'm all indigo.

My colors are darker and cold, 

I think it's time that I went home.

If it weren't for the wind...

Sometime, somewhere, somehow...

Če je kje usoda,

naj udari, naj pokaže smer.

Time is the one thing I have been given, and in turn, I have been given to time. It truly gives me a whirl, as I keep waking from a dream I can't recall, looking around in surprise, and lapsing back, for years on end. It happened as I was awake, with my eyes closed, when I had a dream. It was a small dream about time. I was dead, I guess, in deep blank space high up above many white stars. My own consciousness had been disclosed to me, and I was happy. Then I saw far below me a long, curved band of color. As I came closer, I saw that it stretched endlessly in either direction, and I understood that I was seeing all the time in which I had lived. And then what previously felt endless, instantly felt so small and fragile. Like a blimp, and it's gone. 

With the hero in your dream...

Karr, you can't let things like guilt, fear, anger, and grief be the narrative of your life. You need to train your mind to latch on something less toxic. Something a bit more beautiful. Because the thing is, the world keeps spinning and you're going to be left behind in your own miserable sorrow. Loss is hard. It's difficult. We do not always win, but when we do, we cherish those wins. You cannot be afraid to live just because you're scared of losing. You only live once, Karr. Cherish its highs and its lows. Don't be scared to live it. Don't let fear take over you like it once did me.

No one could save me but you...

My love is so mythical, magical...

I don't always feel it,

but that's when I need it the most,

so I'll 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 praise comes out easy,

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

I don't mind if this takes a million days...

Like a tornado swirling around me, I am in the eye of the storm. I have a front row seat to the destruction of everything I've worked oh so hard to build. I try to tell myself that like all tornadoes, the rain will halt and the winds will calm. The pieces that remain from the cataclysmic destruction of my former self, will soon dissolve and I will find that the only thing that was destroyed was the illusion, the attachment. Allowing me to rebuild a new, a stronger, a more mature me, that I didn't even know existed. So I have faith, that this too shall pass.

What would he do without this world faceless incurious, where to be lasts but an instant. Where every instant spills in the void the ignorance of having been. Of becoming something from nothing and then nothing from something all in one breath. What would he do? What did he do yesterday and the day before? Peering out of his deadlight looking for another wandering like him. Hello? Is anyone there? Edging far from all the living in a convulsive space among the voiceless voices that throng his aloneness.  

Life can break my heart if it wants to...

Let the fires bathe us...

Mislim, da sem končal.

Zdaj pa res. 

It's hard to say what exactly is wrong with him. It's nothing, but it's also all-encompassing. He feels strangely empty, devoid of thought and energy. He is not sure where his days go, but they go. Every single thing he must do, any hint of a demand, grinds against him. He doesn't know what he'd do in that time should he ever achieve that perfect aloneness. He likes to think he would write more, but in truth he would probably sleep. His brain feels entirely separate from him. It is empty, but it also cannot take any more in. It seems that it's a useless organ, endlessly refusing to notice what he wants it to notice. It will not engage. It just glances off everything, a pale beam.

Talk enough sense and you'll lose your mind...

On the broken road...

Here's who I am; I am a lover of words and tragically beautiful things, poor timing and longing, and all things connected with my soul. Oftentimes I wonder if that means I am entirely broken, or if those are the things that have been keeping me whole. I have never seen battles quite as terrifyingly beautiful as the ones I fight when my mind splinters and races, to swallow me into my own madness, again. I will blaze through you like a gypsy wildfire. Igniting you soul and dancing in its flames. And when I am gone, the smell of the smoke will be the only thing left to soothe you. But above all I hope that someday when I am no where to be found, someone, somewhere, picks my soul up off of these pages and thinks, I would have loved him.

I’ve got voices in my head and I can’t lie...

Just like the air I'm breathing, 

these open wounds ain't healing.

I've been holding onto pieces,

swimming in the deep end,

trying to find a way back to you,

because I'm needing.

I need some relief...

Like the sun, I rise in all my glory and splendor. As the sun, I seek the shade of the clouds during stormy moments in my life. If the sun remained constant and bright, it would be missing a lot of beautiful changes that take shape during moments of retreat. Like the sun, I pull back as I set intentions anew to reawaken with the morning light. I will allow myself the same space as I allow the sun. I will master the setting and the rising, and all the transformations in between. 

Keep moving, Karr. No need to ever look back. If nothing else, at least walk. Feel the earth under your feet with the feelings that once felt like defeat, leaving meaning in the imprints of your soul. Walk, with the universe on your back. Walk, journey, trust and receive. All while walking into infinity with the realisation that there is nowhere else to be. You are here. Exactly where you are supposed to be. Feel the embrace of fate and feel the echoes of eternities grace. Walk with them for there is no place to be except here and now.

When my eyes are closed...

Tisto noč, ko sva šla,

dvignil si me z dna, do neba.

They had never promised each other every lifetime, every universe, every possible arrangement of atoms. Those are in infinite supply, and they are just two boys. But they are two boys whose blood runs with the heat of exploding stars, even as it drips down their knuckles. They are two boys whose souls reach for each other and ignore probability and infinity. They are two boys who crashed together and touched each other gently. They have each other’s names carved into their bones and each other’s fingerprints tattooed on their ligaments and they breathe in time with the other’s heartbeat. They would count the steps to hell and freeze it over to save one another and they would burn if there were no other choice. When the sun goes supernova and solar flares lick across the sky, they will see one another, even if only for an instant, and think, this is almost heaven.

That's what I want...

I have realised that patience is not the ability to wait. Patience is to be calm no matter what happens, and have faith to believe that it will all work out in the end while you are waiting. So I lay there with my mind running amuck, on the brink of madness. And somehow, gradually, when early morning came, I became calm. I was reciting the litany against fear, and I started to feel that I was being looked after, that everything was okay. It was strange: if there was ever a time in my life when I had the right to feel alone this was it. But I lost that sense of loneliness. I felt like there was a force in the room with me, not a person, but I had a sense that there was another world, another dimension, and it would be looking after me. I understood that this isn't the only world, this is just one aspect of the whole thing, this isn't all there is.

If only I could flow like water...

It could all go in an instant...

Singing under string lights,

sipping until the sunrise,

living like we only got today.

Swearing off the dark times,

cursing at the moonlight, 

we might be lost,

but we’ll find our way.

Look to windward...

After all the streets are closed...

I have come to understand that there will be times in which things appear hopeless. When I will begin to doubt everything around me. Even myself. When I will think things will never look up and I may be in the deepest, darkest, loneliest place in the world. Everything which had once been infused with wonder may appear disappointing and harsh. I may grow cynical and come to believe that this is simply the way the world is. That I must bear with the unforgiving realities of the world and only hope that it doesn't get worse. 

He is growing suspicious of others, as adults tend to do, and he is closing himself off from the rest of the world. He looks to old friends to reminisce about better days, or he dwells in one place for a little too long and becomes nostalgic for the future. But regardless of where he is, what experiences he has, and who he has become - there will always be those who have loved him. Those whom he may have taken for granted, but have nonetheless, always had him in their hearts and in their hopes and wishes. Lives that he has touched: whether he realizes it or not. To separation he may venture, but indissolubly in union shall he drift. He will always be at the whims of forces, both great and small, and far beyond his capacity to control. That's how his story goes. Innumerable arcs intersect and scatter into a vast indefinite sea.

Karr on a cross...

That part of my life is over. I will set it aside as something I have finished. Complete or no, it is done with me. I guess I really don't get to decide what my life is supposed to be. It's time to be a man. Or at least a far better version of one I was before. I must calmly and without pretense admit where I am now, and go from there. Even if it's rubble and disappointment. I have to accept the life I have been given. That way I might just survive it. If I keep holding back from it, insisting this is not my path, not where I am meant to be, life will pass me by. I may not die from such foolishness, but I might as well be dead for all the good my life will do me or the ones I love.

You can stay if you want...

And I hope that you remember me...

And if we should die tonight,

then we should all die together,

raise a glass of wine for the last time.

Calling out father oh,

prepare as we will,

watch the flames burn auburn on.

The mountain side,

desolation comes upon the sky.

I see fire...

It's a beautiful thing to know that every tear, every obstacle is, in fact, a chance for me to step higher. To choose better. To have better. To paint over my hurts like never before. Before I reach my destination, I'll find myself going through the wilderness. While in the there, my faith will be tried and tested. I'll need to humble myself. My vision for my life will get clearer. I'm in training for my true purpose. I'll lose some people, because there's some folks who are only with me because of where they think my journey will lead them. I walk on. Continue on my journey. Soon, I'll be approaching the mountain. I better get ready to climb.

How you remind me...

He still owes you a reason...

Brez tebe ne znam.

He'a not resistant enough. If life would ever want for him to spiral, it would not take a lot. It seems his walls are made of hay, and the years of complacency have left him soft and unprepared. He wonders if there is any way he can rebuild into something more stable. Unsurprisingly, he simply wants to give up. He's as weak as he ever was and the daily steps he takes, to maybe come out on the other side, feel like nothing. Moving in place. The cycle will never end. He can't hold on forever. He has to make a change. Separate himself from himself. Time won't wait for anyone, not even him.

Time to settle scores...

I'm no longer going to be striving to be perfect or even good. I have absolutely no obligation to either of those things. I won't be wasting my time feeling guilty and repenting things I cannot change. I will let myself expand and live. I'll love what I love. I'll listen to other people's hurt and pain, and share mine with them. Meanwhile, the sun rises and sets each day. Flowers bloom and wither, birds migrate and return, trees shed their leaves and wake up again. No matter how lonely and desperate I might feel today, tomorrow is another day to try again. My imagination is endless, crosses time and dimension, sleeps awhile, and then comes on like fury. These are the things to remember in my darkest times. I am that flower, that bird, that tree, and I will awaken to beauty when it's time. And that time is my choice.

Way down we go...

Your path is better...

When I'm overwhelmed within,

from the weight of all my sin,

I need a friend to call my own,

I need a house to call my home.

When I'm broken down inside,

and there's nowhere else to hide,

I need a place where I feel known,

then I hear your reply,

bringing teardrops to my eyes,

saying I'm not alone.

No one tried to read my eyes...

I've been trying to fit everything in, trying to get to the end before it's too late, but I see now how badly I've deceived myself. My life does not allow such things. The closer I come to what I think is an end of an era, the more there is to say. The endings in my life are only imaginary, a destination I invent to keep myself going. But now I am at a point, where I realize that I will never get there. I might have to stop, but that is only because I have run out of time. I stop, but that does not mean I have come to an end.

He begins to suspect, as he gazes through this hole of insight and fire, that though it is the most important thing he owns, it has not shielded him from anything terribly important. The only consolation is that despite everything, he chose to endure. Without any assurance of immortality or even competence, his only goal is to be happy. He must be careful not to throw everyone who loves him away. Because without them, there plainly and starkly would have been nothing here for him; no, nothing at all.

Hard fought hallelujah...

Dovolj je bilo. 

Dovolj.

His mind has too wild of an imagination. It's an expert at racing over worries about the future or recycling resentments from the past, making it ill-equipped to handle the challenges of the moment. His thoughts get stuck in a vortex of possibilities; what could happen if that happens when he does this, and they respond with that? An endless conjuration of scenarios that hinder his ability to be in the present. He has so much still to learn when it comes to facing obstacles. He's been spoiled by the leniency of his life. Now he has to find a way out of the storm.

No one noticed...

Suddenly, it seemed to me that I looked back from a great distance on the family around, the smiles and the conversations, the whole sunny, sad, funny, wonderful day, and all the days that we had spent here together. What was I going to do when such days came no more? There could not be many, for we were a family growing old. And how would I learn to live without these people? I who needed them so little and so much at the same time. There will come a time when the people at this table wither away, and I won't have any family left. What shall I do then?

Always thought I was someone...

And so I had a late arrival...

Know it seems so quick and easy,

sentimentally assumed,

walking parallels.

To all the days we were together,

to all the time we played a part

in each other's lives,

heart to heart.

Save me from this empty fight...

There's more to come...

I am just a man, doing my best to be a person of value. And every once in a while, nowadays more often than not, I fuck up the moment I'm in. And I'm trying to let myself be imperfect, allowing my imperfections to drive me to improve. I'll try to be a fairer judge going forward. And be the owner of my own intentions. Even though I'm sure I'll still fall short in stopping myself from getting triggered. Love and acceptance despite ongoing and glaring imperfection is all I've ever tried to attain with this thing that is not blog. For me. For you. For everyone. And I don't think I'll ever stop.

Then he sat very still with his hands on his knees, his shaggy head against the bricks, restored to patience and a look of tried inviolate sanctity, the faded green eyes looking out down the row of cages, a forest of sweating iron dowels, forms of men standing or huddled upon their pallets, and feeling the circle of years closing, the final increment of the curve returning him again to the inchoate, the prismatic flux of sound and color wherein he had drifted once before and now beyond the world of men.

At your altar, I will pray...

Oh, fear, my dear friend. How close we've become in recent months. Fear, that which kills my dreams. Fear, that which destroys my ambitions. Fear, that which kills my initiatives. You hold me captive within my comfort zone, not allowing me to stretch beyond your wall to go fulfill my potential. Leaving me shellshocked from recent trauma, being unable to get through even the most mundane of days. If I didn't see the last attack, then the only way forward, is to treat everything like an attack. That's how I'll always be prepared. That's how I'll never be weak again.

Reminds me of a home far away...

All the way...

We all have triggers. And as as much as I love you, you cannot possibly know exactly the words I need to hear, the words I don't want to hear, and the way I like to be touched. And how strange that we expect these things of each other. It's because I've been raised to want fairy tales. For a flawless savior to rescue me. But the savior isn't flawless and the savior is not coming. The savior is me, and I'm still learnings. Forget perfect. Forget flawless. And start speaking your truth. Start speaking what you want and how you want it. And start asking and listening, really listening, to what the people around you say. Maybe, then, we will stop abandoning and hurting each other. Maybe, then, there's hope for us.

I'll be with you from dusk until dawn...

Not trying be indie,

not trying be cool,

just trying be in this.

Tell me how you choose,

can you feel where the wind is,

can you feel it through,

all of the windows,

inside this room.

I'm going to stand up...

Back and forth like a swinging door...

I'm starting to understand that secretly attempting to be liked by everyone has been a slow, but steady downturn of my life. Trying to be someone that people admire or feel an attraction towards or even envy, has led me to a crossroad that I cannot pass. I am stuck unless I profoundly change. On the spot, in front of everyone. Undergoing the agony and defeat of a lifetime. Thinking about all the balls I was trying to juggle that I've dropped, and now the cogs are turning toward total apathy toward it all, everything and all I can think about is that I am a shell of a human being. I'm a pushover. I am to blame.

I'm not sure about all the particulars that led to this moment. Do I believe life is a series of dots to be connected, that I was always meant to be stranded at this very spot? Or that perhaps I can't outrun destiny and that all roads lead to truth and coincidence is a lie to distract me? But I guess the reason I was in this place no longer mattered. The harsh reality stared me in the face and demanded an immediate decision. Choose a random path, knowing it will one day lead me back to this very crossing or stay here until I am utterly undone? Then somehow gather the pieces and become someone who can forge a path beyond who he was, who he failed to be? A path towards someone who would never need to make this choice again.

Shatter me with your touch...

I'm a little crazy...

Just in case...

Triggers are like little psychic explosions that crash through avoidance and bring the dissociated, avoided trauma suddenly, unexpectedly, back into consciousness. The persistent sense of heartbreak and gut-wrench greet me like old friends, the physical sensations become intolerable and it makes me want to do anything to make those feelings disappear. I try to maintain a sense of normality until I no longer can. That, my friends, is called surviving. Not healing. I know I will never become whole again. But that means that if I make it to tomorrow, I am a survivor. 

Down we go...

Oh, father, tell me,

do we get what we deserve?

You let your feet run wild,

time has come as we all fall, 

do you dare to look him right in the eyes?

In a strange, strange place...

I am not those words. I am not the shouts and names. I'm not the awful things spat at me like flavorless gum. I am not the punches or the bruises they cause. I am not the blood running from my nose. I am not under their control. I am not theirs. Inside me is always a part that no one can touch. I am me. I am my own, and inside me is the universe. I can be whatever I want. I can be anyone. I don't have to be afraid. I can let go of that pain. And when it comes reeling back, as the world tries to bully me again, I don't have to revert back to that scared little boy. I can be strong and react differently. I owe that to myself. I deserve to not be scared anymore.

Don't fall, it's not that high...

Take it like a taker...

Who is this little, this pathetic, this ridiculous boy? They laugh at him, and also weep; for he is humanity, he is the universe. He makes mistakes. He is an egoist. He is imperfect - physically, morally, and mentally. Coffee disagrees with him; injustice causes him anguish; anxiety interrupts his sleep, causing in his dreams falls of cliffs and the all-dreaded thunderstone; his ears ache; his nostrils, always somewhat clogged; sporadic headaches. Nevertheless, he struggles. Why? To avoid the making of mistakes, and to know himself. Let him cry out as he will, let him protest his skepticism ever so loudly, he is at heart, like every other, a believer in perfection. 

Spiritual malaise. Lost connection with nature, with the family. lost connection with the spirit. What is left? The self. Identity. Everyone runs from pain toward pleasure, but when they get there only to find more pain, what happens then? You cannot outrun pain. Because when you're born you are like a single drop of water, flying upward, separated from the one giant consciousness. You get older, you descend back down. You die, land back into the water, become one with the ocean again. No more separated. No more suffering. One consciousness. Death is like a happy return, like coming home.

Weren't for the wind...

There goes my mind racing...

If I could turn back the clock,

I'd make sure the light defeated the dark,

I'd spend every hour, of every day,

keeping us safe.

I'd climb every mountain,

and swim every ocean,

just to be with you.

Take me to the garden of Eden...

I think I came to understand the purpose of this thing we call life. But now I must let a breeze pass between this learning and my reaction. I need to stay calm and not rush into it like I usually do. I'll let a quiet litany slow my heart before excitement enters. I'll take a long walk and try to gather myself - still not really myself after recent blunders. I'll try to breathe and stay in the moment. I'll try to catch it. My entire life is made up of memories and the smallest piece of right now. Here it is: my purpose is to find an empty space and use it. Here comes the breeze. I mustn't forget to breathe.

Bearer of unconditional things...

The next thing I know...

I am trying to see the beauty in what is here for me right now. I'm trying to look around me and see beyond the mist of anxiety that blinded me for the past month. I want to get back to being calm and centered. Appreciating the times I didn't have to deal with the burdens of disappointment and the frictions of deep conflict. Today feels heavier than most and tomorrow might too. There is uncertainty lingering in the air, still. But I have hope. I am slowly walking forward. I have strength. Those are two things I can control. I will get past all of this unknown. Step. Step. Step. 

No one noticed...

Life is like the sky, like the empty sky. It has no boundaries so it cannot be defined. You cannot say where it begins and where it ends. It is eternal, it is infinite, yet it is right in this place, just in front of you. You cannot possess it, but there is no way for it to disappear either. It is there. It is always there. You have to drop your rush, your hurry, your ideas to go somewhere, to reach, to become, to be this and that. You have to stop becoming. And it is there; you cannot lose it.

And so taking the long way home through the busy streets of the capital, I slow my pace down. It doesn't come naturally. My legs are programmed to trot briskly and my arms to pump up and down like pistons, but I force myself to stroll past the crowds and pavement cafes. To enjoy just being somewhere, rather than rushing from somewhere, to somewhere. Inhaling deep lungfuls of air, instead of my usual shallow breaths. I take a moment to just stop and look around me. And smile to myself. For the first time in a long time, I am trying to, quite literally, smell the coffee.