October 20th, 2006


And here I rant like a prophet.

The world is synthesia. I get impression, but cannot comfirm them. There are little knots out there on some sort of web. These knots ping a little, as if by hearing them, and identifying them, I could find the right thing to say, soothing them into healing. There are depths stirring in the vast black lake of my own soul.
Perhaps bubbles of fear and pain, so mysterious as shadows in the deep, can be soothed by the act of identification as they rise to the surface. Acknowledged, only then, can they float away free.
I am a microcosm, holding tides of detrustruction and growth in my every breath. Time isn't a dimesion, but rather a friend, that flees in my despair, and is coaxed back when I set the gems of hope in the cool harness of disipline. Perhaps time is a tide formed of cause and effect.
The waves come and go.

There is no truth in judgement. Each word hides the other side of the coin. To say lazy is to forget rest, the need for moments of recovery. To say rest is to forget that measure is needed, to dole out prescious moments, for dreams demand a price paid in effort, not rest.
  • Current Mood
    confused confused