I wish that I could fly,
to those far away places,
those far away stars;
Galaxies.
Their worlds.
Their skies.
Their hearts.
Their present...
They don’t seem to mind
the ever changing light,
the ever changing time.
What we see is their past,
the light they shine,
a mere remnant of a life
that may, or may not be...
How strange this notion seems.
A photograph of history
A movie, repeating every night,
yet never the same
(although it appears otherwise).
The light is there.
But, is it really?
Sunday, 25 August 2013
What is love?
What is love?
Love is a mystery.
Never to be revealed. Never to be understood. Is love real, or is it just a dream? A pure illusion, something we imagine, invent to make peace with our own mortality. Love remains, as a whisper, a flame; maybe ever lasting in a different sense. Never static, never the same. A breeze. A breath. A caress. A feather in the air. A droplet of a tear.
What is love?
Love is a mystery.
___
Often times we confuse other feeling(s) with love. Perhaps a combination of different feelings; we attribute them to “love.”
Or is it that “love” is behind all our feelings? To some extent, in some way.
Or, is it “love” at all? If it’s love, should it not be everlasting, without limits and prejudice. Or is it just part of the cycle of life. Ever changing, different, evolving with time. Changing from one thing to another. Morphing into different shapes, shades, depths...never constant as our own “self” is never the same. Or, is it?
Perhaps, all is just too subjective. Even a sphere changes from different angles, in response to a light source...
But maybe, there is “love” that’s constant, even everlasting, in the ultimate kind of sense. Maybe it’s the force (itself) driving this strange cycle of life, as energy fueling the machinery... and just because all we know is temporary, does not mean it is all there is.
Or, does it?
___
I write you a letter. A letter I will never send. Or, perhaps some day, when I find your existence.
Questions I have, seem not to matter, or should remain unanswered. Whether a reality, or a dream. Perhaps that is not important. I write these lines to let my imagination fly. To create something of nothing, but thoughts running through my mind. Are you the reader? Or am I?
Love is a mystery.
Never to be revealed. Never to be understood. Is love real, or is it just a dream? A pure illusion, something we imagine, invent to make peace with our own mortality. Love remains, as a whisper, a flame; maybe ever lasting in a different sense. Never static, never the same. A breeze. A breath. A caress. A feather in the air. A droplet of a tear.
What is love?
Love is a mystery.
___
Often times we confuse other feeling(s) with love. Perhaps a combination of different feelings; we attribute them to “love.”
Or is it that “love” is behind all our feelings? To some extent, in some way.
Or, is it “love” at all? If it’s love, should it not be everlasting, without limits and prejudice. Or is it just part of the cycle of life. Ever changing, different, evolving with time. Changing from one thing to another. Morphing into different shapes, shades, depths...never constant as our own “self” is never the same. Or, is it?
Perhaps, all is just too subjective. Even a sphere changes from different angles, in response to a light source...
But maybe, there is “love” that’s constant, even everlasting, in the ultimate kind of sense. Maybe it’s the force (itself) driving this strange cycle of life, as energy fueling the machinery... and just because all we know is temporary, does not mean it is all there is.
Or, does it?
___
Questions I have, seem not to matter, or should remain unanswered. Whether a reality, or a dream. Perhaps that is not important. I write these lines to let my imagination fly. To create something of nothing, but thoughts running through my mind. Are you the reader? Or am I?
The view
River, green meadows, hills, houses, churches, castles; history, past, legacy...
I’m on a train,
a journey into the known and the unknown, future transitioning into present,
present into past.
Perpetuum mobile.
Vehicle of life...
knowledge, wisdom, bit by bit, coming in and going, fleeing into the subconsciousness. The abyss.
Locked away until it re-appears on the surfaces of our minds. If ever.
Uncertainty caressing the cells in your brain. Signals jumping through nerves.
Blood cells delivering the oxygen.
Coming in and going away.
Until the flame burns out.
Une terre. Eternelle. Mais pas vraiment.
Constantly changing,
yet remaining the same.
Remnants of the past
dancing in the air.
I’m on a train,
a journey into the known and the unknown, future transitioning into present,
present into past.
Perpetuum mobile.
Vehicle of life...
knowledge, wisdom, bit by bit, coming in and going, fleeing into the subconsciousness. The abyss.
Locked away until it re-appears on the surfaces of our minds. If ever.
Uncertainty caressing the cells in your brain. Signals jumping through nerves.
Blood cells delivering the oxygen.
Coming in and going away.
Until the flame burns out.
Une terre. Eternelle. Mais pas vraiment.
Constantly changing,
yet remaining the same.
Remnants of the past
dancing in the air.
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