Stream

Breaking out into a wild dance of joy. Thumping desks, mouth wide open in silent laughter. Hair in disarray, the theme is picked up, mutated and carried on. Dreams that won’t stop, reality that goes on. Waves wash a distant shore and the roar in a shell is ignored.  Eyes meet across new media, seas of soup separate. Recognition is fear. Each search leads to shunya, but the quest is a path in itself. Why seek outside yourself? March on, and leaves on trees remain as in August.

hello again, world

Did you know?

I’ve been hiding for about three months now.  It is difficult to remember that if you choose to enter the stasis box, the word will have changed when you come out.  When I went in, I knew. In my mind, that is. It is a bit of a shock to see that.

My world has vanished in quiet flames. Perhaps I have my family – my rock, without whom I would be nothing. I have certainly irreparably damaged my connections to people. I don’t understand why withdrawal hurts but I told it does. I am sorry in the same way that I knew that everything would change when I disappeared. When I come all the way out, I will feel sorry the same way I now feel shock – in the heart. As for the rest of it – well, I never really wanted it anyway. If I had, I would have fought for it. Wouldn’t I?

Wouldn’t I?

Legacy

We are the patches of our parents, teachers, heroes, villains. We’re the quirks we picked up from old friends, habits we learned from family. We’re a little bit of everyone we meet, by being what they want or being what they don’t. We’re touched and moulded and changed by every little thing, some more than others.

Beneath this all there is a pattern to our absorbtion, the things we choose to be. There are influences that are stronger than others, are there not?

We are patterns. We are a legacy of a life lived and a journey undertaken, the final product of an unfolding story.