Time…it is the life of the dead and the dead’s greatest life.
Minutes may seem small, but minutes hold the momentary lapses into which eternities may be created. One is not to undervalue the smallest of achievement, for a civilized soul counts the minutes not the grandeur of days spent in glory but in the possibility which is defeat.
Beyond this moment…there is another moment. And that moment, holds another moment. Which cradles another moment. And another. Ad infinitum. Endless is the possibility, as moments keep existing. You cannot hold, you cannot linger. You cannot grasp, yet momentary finding. But moments, are the innocence of purest magic. Magic which can float and exist… encapsulated truest beauty. The beauty we all long to hold. Our deepest longing.
We have it. Let the magic be yours. Open your world to the possibility, of …
Beware of Knowledge, the Double Edge Sword of Reason.
For every extract… to find the vial of wisdom one must take in an inordinate amount of poison. Knowledge is that poison. Knowledge is also that fleeting constituent which brings together all the drops of poison, into the poison’s remedy. Poison is the Antidote. Antidote, the poison. And the shining, blinding light that would be barest truth in color…neither antidote, nor poison exists.
Beware of knowledge, the double edge sword of reason. The sharp edges of truth and duller light of existence and escape.
Hope is a fleeting antidote, for the reality that knowledge brings both life and death. Both necessary constituents to fully engage the mind, body and soul.
Life is a series of cycles, we each can only live half in our lives…a half life. But the fear that one may not meet life, helps you meet in the next life. And the circle is what it is. Everlasting, beauty finds itself.
It is only in the minutes leading unto darkness, one realizes the endm(p)ost of both light and dark. In the first five minutes of death, one realizes just what one is. Not what he thinks, what he is. And in that realization, therefore leads into the created heaven, neither hell. No, there is no respite in the purgatory. And the heavens are your hell. In the first five minutes after the darkness, one realizes there is no light, nor dark. It is here in the slow-moving, ephemeral gray the minutes break down into lifetimes. The lifetimes into infinities. And the infinities become, the reality you cannot see.
Oh blessed be the realities, that we cannot choose as we choose. For in our choice we have forsaken…what it means to fully exist. And in our existence we have forsaken, the realities of infinities in-escape.
Death is the fate no one can escape. The question, then is, How does one die? A person can die like a hero or like a coward. The difference is that the hero can face death without fear, whereas the coward cannot.
Heartbreak does not occur as a sorrow of the soul but as an opening of the deepest mind in purest form. Crushed to find the open. Broken to find piece in piece, the whole-lest of scenes. Scenes that once were disparate, find the edges of truest love. Love to form. Form to create. Love to find openness. Openness to be loved. Loved to find heart. Heart to find mind. Mind to find beauty. Beauty to find wisdom. Wisdom to open the infinite. The infinite ever settling into the only constancy…to be. Being to break. And the cycle repeats.
Do not remove your ability to drift in and out of your own asylums for the feeling.