I sit here drunk in my thoughts. Not knowing how to proceed. Move away, they say. Where too? Oh, where too? I take another drink of life. It splashes on my tongue so sweet but it drains down my throat bitter and harsh. Flashes of youth and splendour cross my eyes. I hope to die in the flowers of heaven. Their scent envelopes you higher and higher. For now I must be satisfied with the taste of life.

Sweet.

Bitter.

Harsh.

Life is a bowl of apples. Peel away the skin and you find the seeds of the soul. Small and dark, but never the less, still there.

Life is not measured by accomplishments but by the road that was journeyed. Search your soul, for it will be hard to find. And if you do find your soul, you will be ready to move on.

Leave here.

Move away.

There is a life more splendid , more loving. We are prisoners in a living shell. The cry for freedom is for death. Then freedom will be known.

Love is not an emotion but a state of being.

“I am in love.” To be inside of love. To accept it. As a way of life.

 

A young boy once collected a pebble from a beach. Through the course of time the pebble saw many hands. When the boy was dying an old man, he asked about his pebble.

“My pebble? Where is my pebble?”

A small boy approached him and laid it in the old man’s hand.

“Thank you Grandpa.”

The pebble had seen many hands but none as loving and warm as the original.