Motifation

If you are reading this, it means you are alive. How's that for a privilege? If you're gonna say, no, it's not a privilege, life is shit, then you're unconscious and insane. You have the chance to explore. Explore your mind, explore your soul, explore the wonders of the world. Explore emotions, explore dreams, explore mountains, explore oceans. Explore forests, explore cities, explore cultures, explore religions. Life is magnificent, it is the ego that creates the illusion of ugliness.
So if you are reading this, do yourself a favour. Acknowledge the fact that you're alive, appreciate it and go do some awesome shit.

Natural Medicine

Breaking through, breaking out.

Boxes, covers, labels.

Phonetically organized chaos.

Insane society.

A pencil…

Could it overcome a drone?

Could it draw rainbows above the cursed villages?

Could it draw auras above the heads of the innocent?

But there’s no need. The rainbows and the auras are already there.

It’s just that this collective consciousness chose not to perceive them.

And yet, something tells me to stick to it.

To fix it.

To heal it.

But first, it must become aware of its illness.

How can you tell a madman he’s mad?

An Orchid's Light By The Stairs

He followed her to the last floor, where she fell silent.

“I suppose I’ve changed my tune.”

She turned around.

“Fine.”

How much longer will she last?

He kept following her.

They got to the railway station.

“It’s cold.”

He promised he’d always keep a place for her.

“My heart is warm.”

He wandered on the tracks, looking for the train.

She took a step back.

“Would you like me to wait inside?” he asked, smiling.

And suddenly he disappeared.

She felt as though her will had been dislocated.

His voice was in the back of her head.

“You do it for others. Won’t you do it for me?”

“I don’t see how I can. It’s not that I don’t pity you. But one has to do it one’s own way.”

“Perhaps it is so. I’m not desperate.  But I want you.”

Where would it take her?

Distance didn’t matter. It was always a journey of ever-lasting growth for the soul.

Expansion of awareness.

She saw an orchid growing out of the concrete right beside the stairs.

“How simple it would be to just pick it up and throw it on the tracks.”

She didn’t know what to do.

Neither did he.

Nonetheless, the train would come soon.

It was getting cold.

She was combing her hair. It helped her to concentrate.

How much longer will she last?

“Fine.”

But it was too late. The train was coming. She could hear it.

“Come on!”

But he stayed hidden.

Only with a snap of the fingers, he could make the train stop dead in its tracks.

But he waited.

What if he allowed it to come?

Would she throw the orchid on the tracks?

Only actions will tell.

“What are you doing?”

He punched the wall and broke his fist. No pain, no gain.

With his bleeding hand he kneeled down and looked at the flower. A tear fell on its soft petal.

Suddenly, a blinding light burst out of the orchid. He didn’t understand it. She was sitting on a bench, watching this strange occurrence unfold.

“You’re mad.”

He smiled.

“Yes. But look at this.”

Suddenly she saw it. Something so strange and pure that it made her cry.

So he snapped his fingers.

The flapping of a bird’s wings could be heard from where she was sitting.

She looked around but couldn’t sight the bird.

“Still wondering where it is?”

Staring at the ground, seeing her own shadow dance like a river, she finally understood.

None of it made sense. Yet, at least.

But it didn’t matter anymore.

Suddenly, they were swimming in light.

What happened to the train?

“What train?”

The Overcoming Softness

The gaze which stares at the world

So curious and bedazzled by the stillness of nature

And horrified by man’s careless footsteps

Over the mowed lawn,

Petrified by the indifference with which one treats his fellow man

Yet puts man on a pedestal,

Floats steadily on the ocean of truth,

Unmoved in essence, yet squeezing tears of innocence

Against the cold wind.

The rejuvenating rain makes it blink, in a frenzy of pleasure

Dreaming of more rain

Thanking the sky

Watching the reflection of divinity foreshadow its ascent.

The Pilot

Stop worrying,

The glass of poison is already broken.

But you can pick up the pieces and rebuild it

With your own vision.

Free will means creation.

Eudaimonia.

No walls, but we create them.

A flame burns, but we stomp on it.

Yet the Phoenix rises.

After its descent to hell, it rebels and yells

Echoing to the pungent darkness

Revealing.

The curtain pulled.

Burnt.

The phoenix rising from its ashes.

Innocence crying, asking

“Again?”

Moving on,

Suffering.

Thus we turn to gold.

Movement unlimited, shaking of uncertainty, but shaking it off.

Our last tear falls upon our calm smile.

We remember and we depart.

Sailing to new heights.

Yet coming back to face the fight.

Why?

The question rises out of nothing, as does the answer.

Unspeakable, yet faster

Faster, we go towards the light

Our mind dies.

Our soul flies.

And we end up right where we started.

Growing infinitely, yet united with the pilot.

Stuck

Stuck

I melt the chains with my tears

And heat the world with my blood

Will I get far?

As if distance mattered at all.

Soon, you die.

Why fear your dream?

It’s the one thing you own.

It’s the only thing that gives you a purpose.

The pure scent

Of childhood

Stuck

In my broken mind.

Can I swing?

I want to swing.

I just want to swing.