This thing has been with me for the last two years. On days like these it feels greater than anything.
About all changes we are facing up, all those transformations for the ones we were not ready yet, accelerating the way we get used to new paths and matters, the way this isolated time of history has reached out our most internal veins and has forced us to embrace us from our deepest roots again, returning to forgotten perspectives and appreciations that were silenced for a while, returning to what each of us knows to do, on the most innate and unpredictable possible way. Making banal things look everything but basic, returning the importance to the things that are able to exalt our senses. We were lost in our own path, we were found at our own race. The motion prevails to the reason. Emotions increase the motion.
Raw non sense words.
For those intrinsic ways our mind can find to fly away, to expand the space and get that breath. La mer dans ma chambre.
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Claim your memories as safety path when turbulence of life blur your mind.
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Odd week.
Lots of open items.
Agenda conflicts.
Time pressure.
Different perspective.
Mind getting away.
Last time resolutions.
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“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.