It walked past me, unconcerned with my presence, and I looked at it, waiting for it to acknowledge me—but it never did. So I followed it to see where it was going.

❖❖❖

Like a jolt of electricity or sudden force that causes a release of tension, it feels like my body is melting—like my mind is disintegrating. And I don’t want anything else to happen. I’m not sad or in pain or even happy. I’m fading into a state of oblivion.

I leave my body, and it sways back and forth while rotating to a fixed cadence. I may be spinning too. But again, there is no negativity in it. There is only a balance between light and dark, between brilliant colors and dull lifelessness, pure equanimity. I wonder if this is okay, for a moment, as I watch what appears to be my soul dancing indifferently in front of me, staring at me with no change in expression, as if to say, “Why wouldn’t it be?” I don’t know whether to move closer or further away, but perhaps I’m only meant to stay here, watching it move in its own way.

❖❖❖

I only hope that you begin to see life for what it is, just as you hope to be seen for who you are.

❖❖❖

Sometimes, you can take life so seriously, almost to the point of fault, and it can become this kind of project or duty that you intend to carry out rather than what I consider the more fundamentally sound approach—to dance. Life isn't meant to be accomplished or even to be conquered in the sense that so many compel us to believe today, but rather it's a pure display of art—it's a musical, a painting, a story. It isn't a game in which some must win, and others must lose. Life is a grand ballroom with no one inside, a lit stage without an audience, a canvas with no paint. There is nothing to be conquered when one considers it as such, only the freedom to express as one pleases—to dance, to play, to sing, to paint, to sculpt, to create. And while these words, to some, are nonsense, to the core of one's inner self, to the expressive voice buried inside all of us, they are the only words that need to be heard.

❖❖❖

Take me to the Temple of Time or the Church of Uncertainty. There I will feel at home.

❖❖❖

Overcoming the temptation to be tempted—resisting the inclination to resist.

❖❖❖

Walking through the city, looking for you—every corner I turn, I think will be the one, but it never is. I don’t know who you are or what you are, but I know that I need you. I’ve lost you. Or maybe I was never with you. But my entire body longs for us to be together. I feel like a child separated from his mother or a twin who has lost their other half, but I don’t know when all was lost. Nothing will satisfy me until I find you, and I’m content to continue looking, even if it destroys me.

❖❖❖

Obsession and love—two sides of the same coin.

❖❖❖

There is a moment in life when all else drops away—when you are thrust into this new form of existence—when all of the distractions and noise and useless expectations fall to the wayside, and you are left with nothing but pure and undeniable acceptance for everything around you. It's a moment that can't be sought. It can never be sought. It will only come in the strangest settings—when everything around you seems wrong. Then, suddenly, you will realize, with an intense vivacity, that nothing is wrong. Nothing could ever have been wrong with this moment because it is life itself. It's the most beautiful thing that could have ever existed, and you are staring directly at it as it smiles at you, and you wonder how you could have missed it all this time. It was right here. It was always right here in front of you. And you cry, and you feel that feeling that runs through your entire body, chills running up your spine and bliss coursing through your veins, and then, without notice, it's gone.

Where did it go? It was just right in front of you. You could see it so clearly. It was smiling. It was beautiful. It was what you've always been missing. But now it's nowhere to be found. And so you go running in search, looking everywhere you can, climbing to the top of mountains, and crawling into the valleys below, from coast to coast, in the middle of oceans, grieving it as if you've lost a dear friend, unable to let it go. You don't want to let it go. How could you? It was everything you could have ever wanted. Why would you give that up? And so you continue your search, convincing yourself that it's the only way to live — that the moment you had experienced was so unlike any other that you must do everything in your power to get it back. But you can't seem to find it. You've looked everywhere. And the longer you look, the further it is from memory. What did it look like? Was it really smiling? You try to remember, but everything begins to fade together, and, for the first time, you begin to feel lost—to question yourself. Does this thing that I'm looking for even exist? Or have I just convinced myself of it? Is there anything that could feel as right as what I want to feel? And as you go on, your doubts grow. You stop trying. You stop caring. You feel nothing and don't even know if you want to feel something anymore. None of it matters anyway. It will just send you back here to this same spot. So, you begin to float through life, not quite alive, not quite dead, in a sort of limbo with no aim. You become a nomad, a wanderer. You will look at people as if you are an outsider. You aren't one of them anymore. You're something different now. And as you wander from place to place, you slowly forget the moment that started it all. You look behind you, and all you see is the place you've just come from. You don't even remember who you were before because this is all you are now. And as you live this life, from one day to the next, never knowing what the day will bring, your mind begins to open again, to explore new things, to awaken slowly, seeing a new bright light in front of your eyes. And as you blink slowly, yawning and stretching your arms, your eyes finally open, and you see it again.

❖❖❖

But to become consumed by something is the only path to truth. Only when you become entirely lost in something can you understand what that thing is and, therefore, what you are in relation to it. When you attempt to remain in control, you prevent yourself from knowing who you really are. Obsession is the source of both attraction and fear. We want so badly to know ourselves but are deeply afraid of forgetting who we are now.

❖❖❖

I wonder the effects
Of chasing and of running away,
Of speaking and of silence,
Of comfort and of anxiety,
Of love and of lust,
Of good and of evil,
Of thought and of feeling,
In their proper amounts.

❖❖❖

Holes, to me, are the reflection of mountains. One, you climb up and then down. The other, down and then up. One, you see the world. The other, you are blinded. One, you know where you are going. The other you must uncover. But their differences are minor. Both are attempts at moving away from level ground, only to realize that, one day, you’ll have to return to it.

❖❖❖

Expressive moments, bursts of emotions, the beauty that comes only in passing—oh, how so many don’t realize what has been ripped from our guts in this society! Listen to the music of angels, and you will soon know that there are higher grounds than the ones on which we stand.

But unfortunately, between us is a steep incline, perhaps even a wall. We can claw our way upward, but our efforts are in vain, and our only hope is that some may have climbed on our backs and leaped from our shoulders to reach the ledge for themselves. While the rest of us are left to die, they will see the place we’ve all dreamed of, but rather than mourn our situation, let us pick ourselves up from the ground and applaud the efforts of the valiant who fought tirelessly for change, who spent their days grinding away at the only thing that gave them purpose, and who ultimately provided a path, not for their own success but for others who have achieved everything that they had set out to achieve. Does it matter if it was them or us? Or is simply knowing that it’s possible enough?

❖❖❖

I feel infested with the past—like it has sank its claws in me, and I can't quite escape. It draws from me like a parasite, getting stronger as I get weaker. The only option left is to erase it completely.

❖❖❖

If it intrigues you, attempt interacting directly with an emotion. Give into its desires. Do it in a controlled setting, of course, but allow yourself to become lost inside them. Anger, sadness, joy, uncertainty, confidence, passion, lust, peace, love, disgust—let them all fill you, overcome you, and feel them take you to places you have not yet explored. Dance their dance, learn each step, be one with them, and once you have reached the pinnacle of what they offer, step away from them. You will find they aren’t as they seem from a distance.

❖❖❖

Go. Run. Do what you must. There’s nothing left for you here. Don’t be afraid of what lies ahead. There will always be more.

Why have you not left? Go! No one wants you anymore. No one needs you here. You’re wasting their time. You’re wasting your own time. Life will never stop, so why should you?

Get out of here! Go! You’re burning alive. Jump. Make the leap. You know what you must do, so do it, coward! Is it too cold outside for your delicate skin? Are your eyes dry from the brisk wind? Find excuses. Search for them. Uncover each and every one if you must. Why would anyone follow their own path?

Why have you not left? Go! What does it take? When will you leave here and never come back? Your comfort is infuriating. Wipe that smile off your face. You’re a coward. You’ve always been a coward, haven’t you? You won’t do what it takes because you’re afraid of who you might become. Afraid? How could you not be more afraid of standing there, never moving, never doing what you know you ought to do, whether you’ll admit it or not?

The storm is coming to take us all away, and if you die with us, I will die a sad man, and you will die in vain. I mean it. Go.

❖❖❖

Why do I always feel like a fraud walking into the grocery? Maybe I always feel like a fraud, and the grocery simply surfaces the feeling.

❖❖❖

I think we are drawn to the music that makes us feel most alive—not the music that makes us happy to be alive or the music that makes us want to be alive, but the music that, in some strange sense, expands our boundaries, directs our gaze inwards, and shows us—even if in a small way—what living really is.

❖❖❖

My entire body feels like it’s rejecting the idea of writing. My back hurts. My energy is low. My neck is stiff. I want to be doing a thousand different things, and somehow, I’ve found a way to do this. It’s innate—a primal drive to finish what I’ve started.

❖❖❖

Slow and steady—it is the only way.

❖❖❖

To believe that you want what you don't must be one of the most bewildering realities of human nature. What purpose does it serve to desire something that will not satisfy us in the way we hope it will? Is it that we are insatiable? Or are we just incapable of determining which desires are worth pursuing? Perhaps it's our inclination toward belief that leads us in the wrong direction. We are lazy. We want something too quickly, and we set expectations beyond our capability. We want to solve the big problems without first solving the small ones.

❖❖❖

To be so great that no word is worthy of your description.

❖❖❖

I'm on a stage. The lights flash on, and all I can see is their bright glow and the dark nothingness of the void behind them. I don't know what to do. I'm not sure if people are watching me. I feel uncomfortable and timid. I'm afraid of judgment. I don't move. I'm frozen. Why can't I move? Why am I afraid if there might be no one watching?

I move one foot and stop to observe. Did anything change? I move another. What am I doing? What if someone is watching? I stop and wait for a moment, but nothing happens. What if I put my arms out to my side? Surely, they'll laugh if they're there. I do so, but still nothing.

I can't be alone, can I? Maybe I am. But how did I get here? I place the toe of my right foot to the outside of my left, and after shifting weight, I drop my right shoulder slightly forward and spin my body. Nothing changes. I do it again in the opposite direction—no sign of life. I roll my head in a circle and sway from side to side. If anyone were out there, they'd surely have made themselves known by now.

I walk forward, throw my hands above my head, and raise my eyes to meet them. Then effortlessly, they fall—one followed by the other, the first wrapping behind my head and grazing my neck. A rush comes over me, and I sprint forward, only to stop in an instant and let my arms remain behind me with my chin raised to the ceiling. Why are they not laughing?

I spin again and twirl and dash forward, come to a halt, wave my arms, contort my body, raise a leg and place it in my hand while stretching the other limbs as straight as they'll go. Then I drop to the floor and roll. I lift my chest and let it fall back to the ground, then again I raise it but let it fall again. Finally, I lift it and use my legs to push my body off the ground and roll my shoulders down —my legs slowly lift behind me—then I jump, spin, and land, raising my hand to the sky. I've lost all sense of time. I rush from one side of the stage to the other, jumping and spinning and dancing around, free of all anxieties and judgment. My body becomes more comfortable the longer I dance, and my worries seem like a distant dream. Slowly, I feel the rumblings of fireworks begin in my bones, and I dash from side to side, jumping and spinning and sliding around the open stage. And suddenly, as I prepare for my final stunt, the lights cut off, and I see thousands staring back at me. I can't stop. But I should stop. But I can't stop. I continue, but I'm terrified of their judgment. What if I fail? What if I'm not who they want me to be? I raise one leg and throw the other in the air, but I'm too self- conscious. I'm no dancer. Why won't they let me be?

I continue, but something has fled me. That comfort, that oneness with my body. Was it ever there? My movements haven't stopped. I haven't missed a beat. But this dance is no longer my own. It's become theirs. No, it's ours. Do they want me to fail? Or to succeed? How do I make them happy? But this isn't about them. It's about me. No, it's about us. Do they want what's best for me? How can they? I'm still moving, throwing arms through the air like a warrior in training, kicking and spinning and tumbling on the floor, dashing from one side of the stage to the other.

Are they just here to observe? Is my existence for their entertainment? No. Or maybe. But why does their participation strip away that feeling I get when I'm alone? It shouldn't. But how could it not affect me? At one moment, they weren't there, and the next, they were. But no, they were always there. It was just my recognition of them that changed. I need to be vulnerable, but it's so difficult. When has difficulty stopped me? But how can I be vulnerable with so much pressure to be? I'm placing the pressure on myself. I need to let them in, but I don't know how. I was doing it when I was alone. But I'm afraid. But what is there to fear when all I need to be is who I've always been? I stop, and for a brief moment, I feel whole.

❖❖❖

How can one exist and not feel fraudulent?

❖❖❖

Without expression, without the ability to witness expression—we would be nothing.

❖❖❖

Don’t tell me that your life is hard because it is easy. Tell me that your life is easy because it is hard.

❖❖❖

Fighting by refusing to fight—winning by walking away.

❖❖❖

There’s no sense in rushing to go somewhere that can only be reached by moving slowly.

❖❖❖

I only want to be with you. I don’t want anything other than to be exactly who we are. Can we make it happen? Just the two of us? Can we agree to be together for just this moment? Can we wrap our arms around each other and forget about the past? It only takes one choice—one moment, and we can put down our guard and love each other like we were meant to. In this moment, right now. Will you join me?

I don’t want to do it alone. We don’t have to tell anyone. We can make this moment ours. We can close the door on the world, lower our guard to each other and keep it up for everyone else. They won’t see us like we see each other. It will be our secret. What do you think? Will you join me?

❖❖❖

Motivation to the unmotivated is as achievable as counting backward from infinity.

❖❖❖

Death has such a profound impact on life—might life have a similar effect on death?

❖❖❖

Remember the way of the tree. Don’t worry about the shape of your branches or the thickness of your trunk, but surround yourself with fertile soil and be sure that it remains as such. Only then will you achieve the heights you seek.

❖❖❖

To feel many things and nothing at the same time.

❖❖❖

At every moment, greatness is a decision. To be great is to be great right now.

❖❖❖

Let me put my hair down. Let me take the easy way. Let me run away from every danger. Let me be free from worry. Let my ignorance be my strength. Let me chase all the things that I desire. Let my impulse guide me. Let my will be as strong as iron. Let my love radiate. Let my anger subside. Let this life be all that it was meant to be. But let it be good.

❖❖❖

I’m a monkey in a cage. They look at me and laugh as I bash my cymbals together, not realizing I’m doing it to get their attention. I have feelings. I have emotions. I have so much inside me to express, but all they see is an animal. They’ve lifted themselves so high above me, telling themselves that the cage is my rightful place. I would have believed it, too, if it weren’t for you.

You saw me. You heard my music. There was no ugly crashing of cymbals— they danced together, the sound gliding through the air like birds soaring far above. In the crowd, you saw me, and I saw you, and that moment was enough for another thousand years. You’re out there, and that’s all I needed to know.

❖❖❖

We wish so badly to wake up, but when we do, we find that the others are still sleeping.

❖❖❖

I feel like a kid riding a bike with training wheels on—or maybe like one who just got them off while someone holds onto the seat. I haven’t looked back yet, but I remember seeing them let go when the others were learning. Have they let go of me? Am I doing it all on my own?

❖❖❖

To be at one with life, not giving way to it and not attempting to make it give way—this is our ultimate challenge.

❖❖❖

I’m happy to have left the box untouched because it isn’t the box I need to open. Someone else will come along and find it the most beautiful box in the world. They will love every moment spent with that box and what lies inside, and through their love, they will infect the world with their smile. To choose the correct box—this is my aim. And I don’t know if I would have without that day spent alone, walking through history, finding myself again.

❖❖❖

I feel on edge. I feel uncomfortable. I want to make this feeling natural—I want to be comfortable with discomfort, but is it possible? And even more, is there any sense in it? To seek black from white or white from black—why not seek discomfort from discomfort and comfort from comfort? Why fool yourself if there is no need to be fooled?

❖❖❖

The secrets of the world are hidden in its corners.

❖❖❖

Taking an interest in the unknown is a dangerous game. There come’s a point when there is no more stable ground beneath your feet. You approach the edge and gaze out upon the void with unobstructed eyes. One step and you are there —one step and you are gone. At once, the most uncomfortable place in the world and, at the same time, the most exciting.

❖❖❖

Is there something lacking in the pursuit of excellence? If one is truly capable of attaining such excellence, can the pursuit be considered anything but noble? The improvement of strengths and the removal of weaknesses—bolstering oneself, rebuilding oneself, laying the foundation deep and the walls high. Is there any weakness in strength? Or put differently, is there any strength in weakness?

❖❖❖

Wanting more than you have yet having more than you want.

❖❖❖

The mindless suicidal tendency that overcomes me on occasion is perhaps what drives me toward improvement. While I don’t know that improvement can be separated from a certain kind of self-contempt, it seems that improvement seeks to overcome even itself and, because of this, seeks to overcome the contempt that first ignited its flame. Like a fire, it burns that which can be burned and, in the same vain, will always need fuel to feed its flames. But even the largest logs will eventually break down. Could there ever be a fire that burns itself?

❖❖❖

Finding a way to affirm it all—seeing clearly through the fog. Are we human without the search? Shall we redefine ourselves?—or is it time to evolve? It’s the physical that affects the mental, and the mental that affects the physical. To master both is to live completely. I will. I will.

❖❖❖

Welcome to the place that all things go,
Where sins have fled and fallen below.
To know the place, to seek return,
To find the fire, and let it burn.

Oh how long I’ve dreamt of thee,
And lost myself in times of pain.
Will my greatest thoughts survive
When no blood of mine remains?

And so I knelt, before my cross,
And asked the lord, how much it’d cost,
To smile in the face of dread,
And raise the living from the dead.

He looked at me and turned his cheek,
Then cast me out to raging seas,
To scream and kick, to punch and fight,
To stay afloat for all my life.

When all had past, I fought no more.
My body washed upon the shore.
And startled by the crumbling land,
I stood upon its moving sand.

Then ran into a cave to find
It comforting without the light.
I closed the door, and realized
That nothing more could be in sight,

Then left the place that all things thing go
And felt myself—a wayward soul.

❖❖❖

Never be discouraged by who you are not but encouraged by who you can become.

❖❖❖

To become self-aware to the utmost degree—how incredibly powerful it must feel. No competitor compares to time.

❖❖❖

How can I become the person I want to be?

❖❖❖

And from the darkness came my deepest evils in the form of a gentleman. I watched as he walked with an undaunted stride, grinning as he approached my side, and as I stood silently staring into the abyss, he spoke to me the words only he could speak:

“Beautiful, isn’t it?—the abyss, the potential of all that isn’t. I wondered myself, when I first saw it, how something could be so great. It’s hard to see how empty it truly is—like discerning the blackest black in the dead of night.

“But a suggestion, if I may. Don’t look across space as you observe it. That isn’t the true experience of the abyss. You’re still a bystander, looking on from a distance. You can never truly know it from here.”

His words were seductive and not at all frightening. I could feel their effect, like the slow but comforting feeling of a hand running up and down my back.

“It doesn’t take much,” he continued, “to bring it closer. You need only forget the space you’ve left between. The abyss is no work of art to observe from afar but an experience all its own.” He moved in closer and began to whisper. “Drop your guard. Let it happen.”

Then I turned, looked at him, staring deeply into his soul, and walked away.

❖❖❖

As I rounded the last corner, dense with trees, I stumbled upon an opening that revealed a flattened area amidst the forest, and at its center were three large wooden heads—the first, a picture of joy, with a beaming smile from ear to ear, the second, wearing a rather stoic expression, with deep and calming eyes, and the last, a peculiar face, one that resembled both melancholy and anger yet somehow cunning at the same time, amidst a deep sigh of regret.

I approached the three after a short hesitation and sat in front of them, as seemed intended, and within seconds, the strangest thing occurred. The middle face stretched his mouth, relaxed his cheeks, and said, "Welcome. We've been waiting for you."

❖❖❖

Fast and chaotic—it is the only way.

❖❖❖

Do you love yourself because you care for yourself, or do you care for yourself because you love yourself? The only way to know is to stop caring for yourself and see if the love remains, but why would you?

❖❖❖

How does one contend with these opposing beliefs: the desire to love and the desire to be skeptical of love?

❖❖❖

Having high ideals is not a mistake. Expecting that we should achieve them is.

❖❖❖

I don’t want it.
Why must I take it?
I don’t need it.
Why have you given it to me?
I didn’t ask for it.
But I have it.
So what do I do with it?
Should I learn to love it?
Should I use it well?
Or should I find a way to rebel?
Against everything it’s given me?
Refuse to accept it?
Refuse to appreciate it?
But others will ask me why.
Others have wished for it themselves.
They don’t know what they’ve wished for.
They don’t know what they need.
They don’t even realize what it is.
They think it’s some magical power.
They want it to be an excuse,
An excuse for them to be less,
A reason for them to be content.
But what is worse than false contentment?
I have it so I must take it.
I have it so I must use it.
But how shall I use it?
Shall I use it to spread lies?
Should I use it to cut ties?
Or should I set it on fire
And soar through the skies?

❖❖❖

Through forests of gnarled branches and luminous creatures, through airy plains and calming winds, through deep and dark seas of lonesome travels, you are ever-present. You are nothing and everything, that which does not exist and must exist—the very essence of being. Nothing would without you, nothing could without you, and yet you are not. A chasm, an abyss, a crater—what a sight to behold and a force to be reckoned with—and each day, you grace me with your presence. I live beyond you while you live beyond me, and our worlds will forever meet, as they should, at the edge.

❖❖❖

Give me glasses or a telescope or eyes that can see from here to the horizon. Give me the ability to discern great from small, beautiful from ugly, value from waste. Give me any indication of the path I’m on so I may prepare for the destination I’m moving toward. But if none of this is possible and I will march forward in obscurity, give me the ability to accept whatever I may find on the other side of this heavy and impenetrable fog.

❖❖❖

When delusion becomes genius—a treasure of the universe.

❖❖❖

Standing at the chalkboard while I see the history of humankind stretch behind me—I feel this being, a giant celestial being, staring at me with the stern but loving smile that tells me I can, even when I don’t feel like I can. I know I can because of all of those who have come before me that did. The piece of chalk is in my hand, and the problem sits in front of me, and if I have to stand here until the day that I die to solve it, I will. I will so that you will see the solution. I will solve my problem so that you may solve yours. I won’t fill you with doubt and burden you with the knowledge that it was too much for me. It won’t be too much for me, and yours won’t be too much for you. Otherwise, it wouldn’t be yours. You can do it. I believe in you.

❖❖❖

When feeling nauseous, try staring at the horizon until your stomach has calmed.

❖❖❖

One day I will surpass all those I have looked up to, and for a short time, I will look down on those who will soon surpass me.

❖❖❖

The person you think you are affects the person you really are, but who you really are is never who you think you are. So choose your thoughts carefully.

❖❖❖

The beginning is the hardest. At some point, it becomes evident that you are no longer in the gruesome morning hours and have made it to the afternoon. So much time has passed, and the thoughts that once clouded your mind seem to have subsided.

But there are still many hours before the night, and when the night comes, the thoughts will return. They will be subtle, cunning, gentle, and enticing. They want you to feel good. They want to take you away from boredom, the sense of nothingness that has begun to overcome you. And even if you fight through this night, there is still a new dawn awaiting you with struggles of its own.

All you have to do is give in. Go back to your old ways. Forget, run away, blind yourself, retreat. You give in just once, and this pain will go away.

How long can you hold out?

❖❖❖

Sometimes it feels like my entire life is just an attempt to define itself.

❖❖❖

It is not passion that produces great works. It is will.

❖❖❖

Do dull colors know that lack of brightness is their virtue?

❖❖❖

Sometimes I think it’s great to have a gnawing hunger, to be ever so slightly peckish. Then after I’ve had some food, I realize that hunger is not great. Satisfaction is.

❖❖❖

The good thing about getting older, if you do it right, is that life gets better. The bad part is that it gets shorter.

❖❖❖

When something ends—a day, a movie, a book—we feel, even if almost imperceptibly, that gnawing feeling, that pit in our stomach, that great unknown that produces a feeling in us like no other—death.

❖❖❖

I wonder if I will ever be the person I think I am. Maybe just for a moment, I’ll know. One strange day when the stars align—when the pieces fit snugly together —I could be great. I could be mediocre. I could be happy. I could be sad. But I would know, and I would be right. And the clarity of the moment would supersede any other feeling.

❖❖❖

Nothing makes me question my life more than a poor night’s sleep.

❖❖❖

A world of opportunity opens up as life goes on. Things can be still only for so long before something comes along and causes them to move.

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Art is strange in the way that so many things are strange. The observer doesn’t see the process. The number of hours that they have stood in front of their easel—the hours they’ve continued to practice when all they wanted to do was stop—the thing they spent their day perfecting—the small details that took weeks of contemplation—the paint underneath the paint we’ll never see—those juicy corrections—those bold and haphazard flicks—everything that makes an artist an artist—all hidden behind the final result.

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Ultimately, a man’s life will be judged by his systems. Results are simply an effect of those systems.

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We suffer because we can, not because we should.

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I want to find things that don’t fit into the forms I’ve constructed in my head. I sometimes do, but only for moments. Maybe that’s what life is about—those beautiful moments, buried within everyone, in all interactions.

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Sometimes I try so hard to be who I am that I’m not.

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I will always need more than what I am capable of achieving.

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I love life like a man high on the best of drugs. But secretly—to myself. Sometimes I can’t help but let my light shine through to the world, but it’s not ready to be seen. I want to grow it. I want to kindle it. I want to cultivate a fire so vast and so great that no man could look at it for the first time with anything by awe.

I don’t want anyone to see it grow. I want to build it in the shadows. I want to run next to it. I want to live inside it. I want to know every inch of it, every moment of its journey. I want to keep it from the world, hidden away in some distant corner, until that day, that heavenly day, when the world is ready. And I can unveil this fire that had been in front of them all along. And they will feel its warmth.

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Life is effort. Living is struggle.

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Time will shake out even the most celebrated frauds.

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Blessed are the sad, for only they can know joy.
Blessed are the confused, for only they can learn.
Blessed are the lost, for only they can find.

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If I continue down this road, will it always be this beautiful?

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Our passions—our desire to analyze our passions—our desire to observe ourselves as we analyze our passions—our desire to share those observations—and our desire to forgive ourselves for all of it.

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Accept that life is never enough—only then will you see that it is.