I am. We are. Life is.
Did you ever give up on possibilities? on hope? on dreams? on the stuff we're made of?
And why? why do we let such ideas, such concepts as miracles and the supernatural fade away? Why does the human spirit have to wither like a flower's petals without water? ...
Is that reality? ...Is that what you claim reality is? ...Fuck that!
I believe in a place where everything is possible, where you meets me and we become us and the world is whole. I believe in a place where beliefs are reality and your beliefs can shape your reality. I believe that my reality, though it's different from your reality is a piece of this grand, universal reality where all our realities connect.
The only, small sad, tiny detail missing from my beautiful reality that I supposedly believe in is that I sometimes give up on the ideas of trust and love and hope. Without these ideas, our realities become dungeons. I will not live in a dungeon. I refuse to let those negative thoughts cloud my world. Though there were times when I was forced to rip out my own heart and drink my blood as it dripped from the fleshy valves, I cling to the hope that I can restore whatever was lost. Though I don't remember the tale of Humpty Dumpty completely, I remember the hope that Humpty-Dumpty could be put back together again. But, i suppose it's less like an object getting shattered and more like the story of a man who gave up his faith, but who can also reclaim such faith at any desirable time. The dilemma that this man faces is that, by picking hope up off the ground, dusting it off, and carrying it around like a hat upon his head, he also picks up the hot iron which is on top of the hat and which has branded his forehead. Or perhaps it would be better to say that, by picking up a rock, one might find a snake under it.
But I suppose these are necessary risks. Furthermore, how can one live without turning over a single stone? Exploring is in the nature of human beings. It is destiny to encounter obstacles and pain and things which make you afraid to go forward. It is up to us to go forward, through or around those obstacles, and to work despite the pain.
Unfortunately, the door to the heart has no secret code which the bouncer asks for at the door; the heart is subject to the many characters life brings to the party -- the shady fellow Deceit, the coniving wench Jealousy, the back-stabber Greed, the charming gentleman Kindness, and the subtle, but beautiful, bitter-sweet lady, Love. To make things even more complicated, the human creature often behaves as more than one of these characters at the same time.
But perhaps all these words fail. All words are nothing. All attempts to assess why and how existence has come to be are nothing. Perhaps, I am nothing.
But I believe, I am. We are. Life is.
And why? why do we let such ideas, such concepts as miracles and the supernatural fade away? Why does the human spirit have to wither like a flower's petals without water? ...
Is that reality? ...Is that what you claim reality is? ...Fuck that!
I believe in a place where everything is possible, where you meets me and we become us and the world is whole. I believe in a place where beliefs are reality and your beliefs can shape your reality. I believe that my reality, though it's different from your reality is a piece of this grand, universal reality where all our realities connect.
The only, small sad, tiny detail missing from my beautiful reality that I supposedly believe in is that I sometimes give up on the ideas of trust and love and hope. Without these ideas, our realities become dungeons. I will not live in a dungeon. I refuse to let those negative thoughts cloud my world. Though there were times when I was forced to rip out my own heart and drink my blood as it dripped from the fleshy valves, I cling to the hope that I can restore whatever was lost. Though I don't remember the tale of Humpty Dumpty completely, I remember the hope that Humpty-Dumpty could be put back together again. But, i suppose it's less like an object getting shattered and more like the story of a man who gave up his faith, but who can also reclaim such faith at any desirable time. The dilemma that this man faces is that, by picking hope up off the ground, dusting it off, and carrying it around like a hat upon his head, he also picks up the hot iron which is on top of the hat and which has branded his forehead. Or perhaps it would be better to say that, by picking up a rock, one might find a snake under it.
But I suppose these are necessary risks. Furthermore, how can one live without turning over a single stone? Exploring is in the nature of human beings. It is destiny to encounter obstacles and pain and things which make you afraid to go forward. It is up to us to go forward, through or around those obstacles, and to work despite the pain.
Unfortunately, the door to the heart has no secret code which the bouncer asks for at the door; the heart is subject to the many characters life brings to the party -- the shady fellow Deceit, the coniving wench Jealousy, the back-stabber Greed, the charming gentleman Kindness, and the subtle, but beautiful, bitter-sweet lady, Love. To make things even more complicated, the human creature often behaves as more than one of these characters at the same time.
But perhaps all these words fail. All words are nothing. All attempts to assess why and how existence has come to be are nothing. Perhaps, I am nothing.
But I believe, I am. We are. Life is.