Save your life before someone takes it

In fear and trembling,
destiny’s road perishes.
With courage, horizons come to light.

Buddhism makes sense if life was as easy as smiling at the future. I strive for a personal peace (which i mostly acquired) making sense of “adult” ideas and ideals, finding myself buried under people’s wants and wishes. The partnership of those concepts drives anxiety. Develops depression.

I never see what has been done; I only see what remains to be done.
–Buddha

To live takes courage, to creatively think outside the box. Potential journeys appear predestined, forged from a void. Mystical visions of a foreign future guided by voices. A message to undergird a developed determination, a way forward donned in pants, carried strength in blind faith and as we all die, meet our end.

I ask, “Are we (not) happy in the pursuit?” I imagine we are, carrying our heart to the fire. This fire burns in countless imaginations. We do not stand in line and wait for the world to shine, we shine in and for it.

There may be a great fire in our hearts, yet no one ever comes to warm himself at it, and the passers-by see only a wisp of smoke. –V. van Gogh

Who rules? There must be order. Rules. Direction. I do not consider myself an anarchist, rather an advocate. All humanity at some point in time has felt invisible, depressed, confused, hungry for love. The greatest way to make change is be change.

What is your aim in philosophy?
To show the fly the way out of the fly-bottle.
–Ludwig Littgenstein

Church is poetry. Poetry is life. A life well lived.

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embrace
the warmth
of this good earth
though light
descends from far away.
the morning dew
refreshes her
and sun sparks
flame within.

the evening sky
though dimly lit
imparts possibilities
of deeper thoughts
that exist
beneath the wings
of man.

i took
Frost’s road
the one less traveled
lost
and never found.
his words
an enemy
blanketed my feet
and the stars sneered
at my gullible defeat.

they slid their feet
grass blades bent
among humid air and
freshly-washed sheets.
laundry flapped in the wind
while underneath their bodies
lied an unfinished book
their confession too long
to write the ending.
blood-stained fingertips
hit the back-space button
and life with broken spine
and tattered pages
was wrapped in ironed,
pure-white Egyptian cotton,
800 ply.