I am searching for some long-forgotten senses of self. It's hard to recollect what made me tick back then. I felt that more avenues were open to me. I felt no compulsion to stick to the main roads.
If there is a fountain of light emerging from the top of my head, why do I find it so hard to recall all the compliments I receive? Do I need to deepen this sensation of spiritual transcendence, or reach for another?
Confusion is a self-made thing. It borrows from a manufactured world of mediocre preoccupations.
I push them out, one after the other. Perfectly formed little critters, dazzling in the daylight.
It's time to break the pattern.
What could I be, if I let my thoughts run free? Possibly triumphant as I daren't be. But who is the me demanding attention? Already transformed into something else.
I dared (a bit) today.
If there is a fountain of light emerging from the top of my head, why do I find it so hard to recall all the compliments I receive? Do I need to deepen this sensation of spiritual transcendence, or reach for another?
Confusion is a self-made thing. It borrows from a manufactured world of mediocre preoccupations.
I push them out, one after the other. Perfectly formed little critters, dazzling in the daylight.
It's time to break the pattern.
What could I be, if I let my thoughts run free? Possibly triumphant as I daren't be. But who is the me demanding attention? Already transformed into something else.
I dared (a bit) today.
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