One day home
Sometimes you need not be personal. But life carries time as a grown up nanny, we’re forced to deal with it. This is what I call destiny: a way that makes things unavoidable. Choosing, loving, hating even revolve around us, as we pick them. The closer choices, the closer people, both to love and hate; all there is around us is our destiny.
Talking about language, with language. Isn’t this just a bit too much? How can one think truth attainable if what we have left is only language? Thought, they say, connect you to the other. But the other is more, it reaches deep within. As wound still open under the scar of mind and body. We get used to everything. Except than that floating feeling of universe existing. But language tricks us fast. Uni-verse instead of multiply, one way instead of the endless circle. Images can save us, make the bitter sweet. And memory supplies an identity for us. Blue is blue (...and also sad), green is green (but also nature...); dark and light combine themselves to keep us entertained. Do not get this as a lack of freedom.
Destiny, that is whispered aloud, destiny is the field where all our thoughts are visible. Destiny is the light on our actions, it’s the way we do things, what we’re good at. But yet to us it means that we are not free. Now, that makes me restless. What means something, also means something else. A shell cannot be broken without its pieces falling off. Language without a mirror, words without an opposite are nothing but...
How can I define what’s left of us? We have to disappear gently, and understanding will rise up. And down again. Then we are capable of thinking. Yes, I lost my track. I’m sure you will forgive me, if I laugh about it.
Let it be so then. Let us for one moment be able to forgive and cry at the same time. Because being strong is not carrying too much weight. Moving ahead is our portion of freedom. That’s way enough for us.
Sometimes you need not be personal. But life carries time as a grown up nanny, we’re forced to deal with it. This is what I call destiny: a way that makes things unavoidable. Choosing, loving, hating even revolve around us, as we pick them. The closer choices, the closer people, both to love and hate; all there is around us is our destiny.
Talking about language, with language. Isn’t this just a bit too much? How can one think truth attainable if what we have left is only language? Thought, they say, connect you to the other. But the other is more, it reaches deep within. As wound still open under the scar of mind and body. We get used to everything. Except than that floating feeling of universe existing. But language tricks us fast. Uni-verse instead of multiply, one way instead of the endless circle. Images can save us, make the bitter sweet. And memory supplies an identity for us. Blue is blue (...and also sad), green is green (but also nature...); dark and light combine themselves to keep us entertained. Do not get this as a lack of freedom.
Destiny, that is whispered aloud, destiny is the field where all our thoughts are visible. Destiny is the light on our actions, it’s the way we do things, what we’re good at. But yet to us it means that we are not free. Now, that makes me restless. What means something, also means something else. A shell cannot be broken without its pieces falling off. Language without a mirror, words without an opposite are nothing but...
How can I define what’s left of us? We have to disappear gently, and understanding will rise up. And down again. Then we are capable of thinking. Yes, I lost my track. I’m sure you will forgive me, if I laugh about it.
Let it be so then. Let us for one moment be able to forgive and cry at the same time. Because being strong is not carrying too much weight. Moving ahead is our portion of freedom. That’s way enough for us.
