Finished Symphony

The wind in my face. A full moon somewhere behind and above my head. The sand and rocks bathed in a shade of dark blue. When will the dream end? When will we know what we have forgotten. Ships in the misty distance, their hulls drowned under the horizon.

We twist and turn inside, like larvae preparing to hatch. Butterflies or mosquitoes?

Double Slit

The triangle of dreams, hope and reality stretches apart. Its shadow falls on the ground of our consciousness; collapsing dimensions. We are only what we want to be. We are not who we choose as friends out of courtesy, but those who we make as enemies out of principle.

The illusion of choice flies through the cool night sky, high above - like the aurora on another planet. We sin to survive, and live to be judged. A measure of one soul's worth, we choose to live on a whim.

The distance between knowing of something, and actually knowing it; the theatre of life with its stage squeezed in-between.

Remember what you do not remember. Know what you cannot know. Perhaps some day you may yearn for the privilege of suffering.