I seem to make my own misery.
When we are young we set out with dreams. In the middle of the journey of our lives we find perhaps that we have lost our way. At the end we find the origin; and we begin again.
People are afraid of what they dont know.
Some things only become clear much later.
‘I think the first seeing, the first mis-reading is the truest.’
‘Why? You didn’t think so before. You used to say thrice is once.’
‘I still do. But I think something of our deeper selves lives in the magic of first encounters. We try later to recapture that first enchantment, but only rare experiences reawaken it.’
‘Why? You didn’t think so before. You used to say thrice is once.’
‘I still do. But I think something of our deeper selves lives in the magic of first encounters. We try later to recapture that first enchantment, but only rare experiences reawaken it.’
What can you do with all this beauty? The frosted peaks, the silver lake, the light, this dawn?’ Lao asked. ‘It fills my heart, I want to do something with it, and I don’t know what.’
Never move far from the alpha of life.
What if by sheer repetition we become the person we most often pretend to be? Does that mean there is no authentic self? Are we made of habits, compressed by time, like layered rocks?
In a world blinded by the visible might not its opposite be fruitful as a contemplation of the human condition?
Maybe what seeks us is better than what we seek.
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