“Quand on aime vraiment quelqu’un, il faut accepter sa part de mystère... et c’est pour ça qu’on l’aime...”
Another trip around the sun. And I’m thankful for all the chances, for all the people around me. For all the past and all those memories. For all the untold stories, for all the nonsense experiences. For all the motion. For this life.
“In the end, we forget the details of our lives that embarrass us or are too painful. We just lie back and allow ourselves to float along calmly over the deep waters, with our eyes closed.”
We experience our past without knowing we were also creating our future. We made memories without a conscious path about our own coming expectations. We were raising empires for the eternity without even knowing the implications. We built cities made of memories. We created our own placebo.
“Someone had told him one day that you forget the voices of those whom you have been close to in the past very quickly.”
Where all the dreams reside after the night, where all the darkness of those early hours travel to while the light of the coming hours cover over our seeing, where all of our hopes wait for our attention and our willingness for actions. That invisible place filled by seas of unclear visions. Awaiting for us to come over and start the day over again. That feeling of nonsense relation. Those voices holding on silence. The untold visionary world.
“You were right to tell me that in life it is not the future which counts, but the past.”
Even the tiny and quietest memory may offer a whole sea of peace. If it’s true that future counts, the past should be counted as double, we are wherever we are because the past we lived, we expect whatever we expect because the experience we had in the past. Undervaluation of our own very past has been only the path we walk to commit new mistakes, we should have been educated about this when we were children. We should have been advised by the old generations about all of this. We shouldn’t have been raised as a weak generation protected by avoiding the past, lack of knowledge only carries lack of opportunities. Valuable paths are in our own hands.
Ephemeral worlds carrying our untold words on, letting our deepest emotions to come up, facts rooted on invisible layers, residing in between us, absorbing, letting us to experience, discovering worlds that are still unknown. Unborn realities.
Raw words, without sense.
“I believe that by time I had already realized that no one really answers the questions.”
The more I think the more I know nothing about. And that’s an amazing step. All is about the perspective and how this may be counted in our own path.
And suddenly now all those random moments are louder and more present than ever, those unique and undervalued memories are now basic supporters. Retrieving the motion wished. The dialogue of those silences forgotten. ~
Not necessary saying utopia is an invalid statement for mindset growth but a path to explore new matters. Perspective over reaction.
Motion scape.
To find the peace on each stage no matter how many times you have been there. To find perspectives that may you help with new arrangements. To reach the motion inside your mind.
It was early and the sky was showing its darker face, there were not sounds as the city still asleep, my coffee remains in my hand and my memory was off flowing back to this scene. The way we remember make us feel the motion, make us restart our own way. We keep records to survive without the knowledge of our actions. We keep trying to walk for new paths carrying our own oldest paths on. Life is motion. Sometimes motion in reverse.
Daily common observations preserving sanity.
“Many years afterwards, we attempt to solve puzzles that were not mysteries at the time and we try to decipher half-obliterated letters from a language that is too old and whose alphabet we don’t even know.”
How many stories were created in our mind and were allowed to reside only in our fantasies with the only intention of a better place? How many stories achieved the reality of life? How many of our own words were allowed to reside in untold memories? Scratching the surface of time, impulsing our analog fantasies into a different dimension where voices are louder and deeper, where our silences are ruling the time. How many times intensional actions were taken in place?
Scape, silence and words.
“We tell ourselves stories in order to live.”