There are very few human beings who receive the truth, complete and staggering, by instant illumination. Most of them acquire it fragment by fragment, on a small scale, by successive developments, cellularly, like a laborious mosaic. |
There is not one big cosmic meaning for all, there is only the meaning we each give to our life, an individual meaning, an individual plot, like an individual novel, a book for each person. |
Throw your dreams into space like a kite, and you do not know what it will bring back, a new life, a new friend, a new love, a new country. |
To change skins, evolve into new cycles, I feel one has to learn to discard. If one changes internally, one should not continue to live with the same objects. They reflect one's mind and the psyche of yesterday. I throw away what has no dynamic, living use. |
Too late for changes, too late perhaps for explanations and ideological webs, but the love goes on, the love goes on, blind to laws and warnings and even to wisdom and to fears. And whatever that love is, perhaps an illusion of a new love, I want it, I can't resist it, my whole being melts in one kiss, my knowledge melts, my fears melt, my blood dances, my legs open. |
Truth is something which can't be told in a few words. Those who simplify the universe only reduce the expansion of its meaning. |
We do not grow absolutely, chronologically. We grow sometimes in one dimension, and not in another; unevenly. We grow partially. We are relative. We are mature in one realm, childish in another. The past, present, and future mingle and pull us backward, forward, or fix us in the present. We are made up of layers, cells, constellations. |
We do not grow absolutely, chronologically. We grow sometimes in one dimension, and not in another; unevenly. We grow partially. We are relative. We are mature in one realm, childish in another. The past, present, and future mingle and pull... |
We don't see things as they are, we see them as we are. |
We see not what is, but what we are. |
We travel, some of us forever, to seek other states, other lives, other souls. |
We write to taste life twice, in the moment and in retrospection |
What I cannot love, I overlook |
When one is pretending the entire body revolts |
When we blindly adopt a religion, a political system, a literary dogma, we become automatons. We cease to grow. |