No Pause Button On This Parade
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You can always go home again. Thomas Wolfe got it all wrong. Because home isn't a place. Home is where your heart is and God help you if you can't go back. I know nothing stays the same.
There's something nice about the familiarity of the furniture here. The way it sinks and droops instead of remaining firm and unmoving. I'm finally out of the on-the-floor lifestyle. In your own bed, the dreams you get are the ones you're heart sends to you. Uninhibited by the world they determinedly rise up from the depths of your subconscious where they've been deferred for so long and now drain out in slow dollops coming out of the damp and the darkness and into the place where you can see them. These are the dreams you can't admit to yourself when you're out on your own for they're all consuming. Wishes of the heart so strong that to acknowledge them would mean to constantly dote on what they are comprised of. And it's true the things they haven't said; some dreams are better left undreamt. Just like some thoughts are better left alone. Creativity, curiosity - too much of either is a curse.
Rock thoughts that tumble of cliffs. Coffee shop thoughts that waft in through the door. Ocean thoughts that run across the sea. All of these and more. They come and go and go and come one up on the next and so on, a constant bombardment of the brain. It's a wonder anyone can ever do anything besides sit and marvel at them. Each upon the next ever-flowing, ever-moving; there is no stop, no pause button on this parade. And everywhere you go more are born; they are brought into life without effort and the persistent ones live long-past a life-time. Though they are never born so much discovered and never die so much as being forgotten.
"If you aren't remembered, then you never existed."
And some would argue there's truth in this and perhaps there is, granted only a little. For each builds upon the next and nothing can come without that which came before and nothing new could be without something old that allowed its creation. Everything is interlocked and interwoven and intertwined. We are not as individual as we'd like to think. We are one creature moving and evolving, creating wonders and monstrosities, though more of the latter than the former, edging our way to our own grand success or abysmal failure.
We are every generation that has come before us and we are every generation that will come after. We are all each other. To fail to recognize how insignificant our differences are and how great our similarities are, the greatest of which is the capacity to love, creates lack there of it. Failure to recognize the commonality of us as a collective whole results in division. Results in fratricide. Brother against brother. One creature fighting to destroy itself. It's suicide really.
It's enough to make your heart cry.
Really.
xo.
There's something nice about the familiarity of the furniture here. The way it sinks and droops instead of remaining firm and unmoving. I'm finally out of the on-the-floor lifestyle. In your own bed, the dreams you get are the ones you're heart sends to you. Uninhibited by the world they determinedly rise up from the depths of your subconscious where they've been deferred for so long and now drain out in slow dollops coming out of the damp and the darkness and into the place where you can see them. These are the dreams you can't admit to yourself when you're out on your own for they're all consuming. Wishes of the heart so strong that to acknowledge them would mean to constantly dote on what they are comprised of. And it's true the things they haven't said; some dreams are better left undreamt. Just like some thoughts are better left alone. Creativity, curiosity - too much of either is a curse.
Rock thoughts that tumble of cliffs. Coffee shop thoughts that waft in through the door. Ocean thoughts that run across the sea. All of these and more. They come and go and go and come one up on the next and so on, a constant bombardment of the brain. It's a wonder anyone can ever do anything besides sit and marvel at them. Each upon the next ever-flowing, ever-moving; there is no stop, no pause button on this parade. And everywhere you go more are born; they are brought into life without effort and the persistent ones live long-past a life-time. Though they are never born so much discovered and never die so much as being forgotten.
"If you aren't remembered, then you never existed."
And some would argue there's truth in this and perhaps there is, granted only a little. For each builds upon the next and nothing can come without that which came before and nothing new could be without something old that allowed its creation. Everything is interlocked and interwoven and intertwined. We are not as individual as we'd like to think. We are one creature moving and evolving, creating wonders and monstrosities, though more of the latter than the former, edging our way to our own grand success or abysmal failure.
We are every generation that has come before us and we are every generation that will come after. We are all each other. To fail to recognize how insignificant our differences are and how great our similarities are, the greatest of which is the capacity to love, creates lack there of it. Failure to recognize the commonality of us as a collective whole results in division. Results in fratricide. Brother against brother. One creature fighting to destroy itself. It's suicide really.
It's enough to make your heart cry.
Really.
xo.
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