I have so much dignity I can't give it away fast enough.
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Love and joy grow upwards, a beautiful vine. Sorrow is a tree branch, a foothold for joy, from which it can climb higher.
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It can be fun for a while to throw happiness around. After a short time, it will turn to quicksand. You may need some sorrow to turn the path to cement.
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I've climbed over people to get a little higher. Some people tried to hold on to my pant leg, I shook them loose. Then I climbed to the top, and there is a firm ceiling over my head, whoops. Now I have too much dignity, and its gold to anyone except me.
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That thing that is always out of reach, that one big desire that would make everything better, you've tried everything...except, have you tried pushing it away?
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Rats come to things that grow stagnant, festering. Plaguebearers, but they are just a piece of the whole, don't chase them away, attemping to hide your shame. Stop looking down at the little guys who follow the shadow - flies in the trash, rats on the food, maggots on the dead. Look up at what is blocking out the sun, and ask yourself why it wants to talk to you.
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I can't wait to spend at least fifty years with you.I would jump out of bed each day. How undeserving I am to have more than a second in your light. You've got me thinking of a thousand joys every second, my life is falling apart, there's no room for anything except you. Can you imagine? Every day would be a lifetime of joy. However, I had no right to you. To my beloved, who I knew for not even an hour, and I will never see again, I am so grateful that you sunk a hook into my heart, I'll take good care of it.
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Joy and sorrow, two ends of a fan, watching it spin? "I sure hope sorrow does not come around again!". My dear, don't set yourself up for disappointment.
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Now I know why you are so mistakenly afraid of sorrow. You've marked the limits of your happiness, neatly measured and lined up with a laser. Marked with traffic cones, police tape, and a little fence. And here comes sorrow, to smash down all your delicate work...oh well.
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Someone told you that you are driving? Just who made you think that you had the power to stop yourself, such a mighty machine, forging onward. My dear, we are just laborers, placing one road stone at a time, passengers in the chase of fate. I feel sorry for whoever tries to push an elephant, imagine how frustrated they would be. It's much easier to dangle a carrot.
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I keep ordering sunsets for you, and you always look down, asking for something beautiful to show up.
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My dear, someone has made another silly mistake. Your compass of joy, in your hand, is missing the other half - sorrow. Someone tucked it away in your back pocket, quite accidently. No wonder it has been so hard to get where you are needed most! Let's make sure to put them back together, and study their wholeness - a divine guide.
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Your dreams of cars and houses slipping away? Like a baby trying to drink something from under the sink. You're supposed to be in a blockhouse, shared dwellings, working. You'll gain what real happiness is, what you were looking for - community. That's what the lion and the rabbit do, they work.
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When your cell phone battery is low, you become worried. The trick is not to charge it, but to let it die. So you can know you will be just fine without it. The next time it gets low, you won't worry. It's not a part of you, so why would its fear be a part of you? Come on, we have no time for that.
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Where do you think you will find the whole world? Don't keep looking back in your room. It's outside of you, waiting for you to join it. Why are you looking down? Don't look down.
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I would not mind some grief right now, my crops are a little dry.
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I feel closer to death in that it feels more appropriate and beatiful with each new experience. It's a pity others may feel bad, they musn't.
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To dress my life and my authenticity up in black paint, and maybe some fake monster scales, and then label it fear. Now I have an excuse "I can't, see? It's too scary!". No one is buying it.
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How can you experience to love if you don't believe the stars were made for you? Your hands are empty and ours are overflowing with our love for you, and we just can't keep up while carrying it. The love you are trying to find is chasing you. You are too important to chase something.
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Criticism as a kindness. People hide behind politeness, old phrases like "would you mind if..." and "excuse me could you...". Hiding behind a curtain of society, rightness, correctness, while you throw a rock. I almost think we can say the word 'polite' is quite negative, masking ones anger behind words that are hard to criticize, cowardice. Hiding in a little tower. Real kindness can be found when you ask someone to stop. But you have to be humiliated, open yourself and find a new phrase that is generated by your smallness and powerlessness in your request. Put yourself in the mud and put them in the tower, look up to them.
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Every gun and missile bought instead of bread or medicine is actually the unbalanced attempting to balance, a restoration of power. A cornered rat chooses to fight because it knows death is near, let it experience its final truth.
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When your happiness is just a meal, it's very close to your basic survival instinct. When your happiness is placed on a new car, it can be taken away from you with just a small scratch. Don't give your power away.
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I am so sorry that I have nothing but love for you, nothing but the cure to every ailment. You beg for poison and I open every vial, but it all turns to antidote. Please forgive me.
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Trying to shove the truth into someones head, piece by piece, just deforms the truth. Don't cut the corners off of it to make it fit through. Take your whole truth and put it on the ground, walk beside them and hold their hand, and look at it together. Ask what they see.
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Religion is the retelling of the story of God.
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Authenticity is a wine you pour out, an action. Anxiety, worry, login, overthinking, these are a counterfeit - there's no thought in authenticity.
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Some people martyr themselves to rescue one animal or one child or one tree, because they can't handle the pain and have to help. Imagine seeing all of the pain of a child and feeling it entirely as your own, and then not just that child but their parents, the grandparents, their pets, their friends, and every pain that every person will inflict and receieve. And the pain of every animal, watching its brothers and sisters and children die, knowing it can do nothing at all. The pain of being lost. The pain of a rock in the rain. I experience all of this pain with only a glance. Clear sight.
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You are such a good listener. Someone told you not to listen to your body, and you listened to them! You're such a good listener. Isn't it your turn to be heard? Listen to yourself. No one can hear the real you, the you that is in your body and soul. No one will come get it. No one can hear your mind but you. So you must go get it.
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Shame from awkwardness is only painful because it is distance from reality. In reality, there is no shame in nakedness or falling down, they are acts of life.
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Mr squirrel had outsmarted the fox. Mr squirrel had outsmarted the owls. Mr squirrel had worked so hard and saves up a stash of nuts for his family. Then one day his stash and his home and his family was asphalt. The driver of the car rejoiced, now there is a second lane, and turns his music up.
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When I chase down the figure wearing wingship shoes, I grasp and grab and try so hard to hold his hand. It always slips away. So I take my shoes off, run to it, and push instead. Our hands meet, both pushing, so we are locked together. Now, we are dancing.
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Like sticking your hand a little bit deeper in the soil, to come up under the root of a weed. Like breaking off the tail of an arrow, to push it through you. So sometimes you have to elevate your problem, instead of trying to elevate yourself away from it. Sometimes, there is no climbing up. You need to go down and take the leash off of your leg.
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When in conflict, be sure to mow your opponent's lawn and clean his house, so he has even more reason to run away, something to return to. Uncorner the rat.
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You, the source of frustration to God, who holds mistletoe over your heads while you complain of not being loved, 'get this mistletoe out of my way so I can see where love is'
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Try to be chivalrous, impersonation. Die to be chivalrous, truth.
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Slow traffic only annoys you if you're trying to go faster than you can, be easy on yourself.
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Wearing headphones going for a run because we replaced the definition of beauty with echoes of the dead
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We know the simple, primal, feeling of happiness. Intimately, instrictually. Just like we know the simple primal tool of how to interact with a rock. We know these things instinctually, through our directly learned experience. We understand how we interact with a rock better than anyone else. We know how to breathe in our body better than anyone else. And we know our emotions better than anyone else, intimately, completely, instinctually. So why are you telling people that to get happiness you have to go through steps and programs and work? Happiness is a primal ability, we inately feel it, we don't need anything to feel it. I can't see your happiness, you can't see mine.
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Truth arrives before your sense of worry
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Truth does not hurt, us holding onto a lie while it burns, hurts.
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In the age of misinformation and disinformation, we can rely on the simple truth that everyone knows and work backwards: that we will die.
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Fath is applying pressure on your next step, evne knowing the path hasn't been built yet, and without feeling any resistance of safe hard ground.
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God can be learned, but not taught. It's a path inwards from your outtermost self. I can wave goodbye to you, but I can't walk in your soul, no one has access to what you made for yourself.
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We are all dying equally, at the same rate, and so is everything around us. We experience the same amount of death each day. Wave to your neighbor, the bird, the grass, and wish him well as he dies today.
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I'll finally be happy when I can give you my last drop of air, my last piece of me, so I don't have to worry about myself anymore
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The richness of her love it could be dipper in bittering agents and i would only taste sweetness. Her most firm statement caressing my neck ike cashmere. I know totally, with certainty beyond all phyiscal senses combined, that she loves me. Even as she packs me up into a grave, I know that I will, at the very end of eternity, wake up again, loving, and thanking, her.
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I'm complaining, aren't I right to do so? Tell me I'm right so I don't have to improve my reaction to the situation.
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Is it better to have never gotten a chance to live, or to have lived and then died? Most would say its better to have lived and died. Then why don't we feel sorry for those who don't? Think of the poor rock or the poor water, always dead. Maybe you'd say 'well they have no feelings', neither will you when you die and become like them, no?
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If you let the human body just be itself for a little while, you could peek around the corner and watch it start to play music when it thinks no one is listening
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My veins have much love for you, its like I have too much blood. I would cut my opens open to relieve the pressure, the crimson against the blue sky.
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It brings me joy to watch you dance and play in the sand, following the breadcrumbs, and I'm anxious for you to spring my trap for pure universal love.
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Dig up your old self, trauma, and thoughts - forge a sword. Don't forget to keep a razors edge on it.
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If you only look for whats right, you miss out on whats left
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Congratulations on your depression and anxiety, you have receieved the message that others ignored.

Love is like a pair of eye glasses you can't seem to find, sometimes you just have to pull them down off your head to get a better look.
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Giving up hope? Dramatic, but you can't let go of something that is still attached to you, something you are still inside. Cute try.
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Two trees wearing so much bark out of fear, that they don't even recognize that they are different species. Trying to force attachment, doomed. Shedding bark to see the naked authentic self, and they see incompatibility, oops.
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Sadness is material, kindness is a magnifiying glass. You need both for the puzzle. When you get stuck on sadness, add kindness. When you get stuck on kindness...
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If you see me trying
To help you with your work
Be sure that I am lying
Responsibility I shirk

To keep my love away from you
Which each day grows more true

So only if you see me crying
Go ahead and close your eyes
Act like we are dying
And kiss all of my lies

So that you do not catch a cold
Hanging on to something old

In your heart
When you already know
That this is just a start
Somewhere deep and low

A restless breeze

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Allow life to bloom, and you may pick from any tree. Responsibility grants power, power grants responsibility.
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Give God your sacred space in you, that space which is untouchable by anything else besides your soul, that private and holy space, your true space. And then make it whatever you want, no one is watching. No one can see it, why hide?
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Sleep is when you can't hide from yourself
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Life is so infinitely big that we have infinitely small control over it, which make things much easier when the only steps we have to take a infinitely small.
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Jump to criticize, hide behind a cloud of flies. "You stink!", but we can't see the sin in anyone else, only our own. Each person is a reflection for us, until all we see is good.
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I don't have to see the last way that things got worse, I can see the last way that things got better, a steppingstone, much easier than crossing a pit of mud.
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There is a quiet holy garden within us all, surrounded in nothingness on all sides, with rich grass and stillness, where we can hold hands and dance together.
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My power need to rest, so that my intuition can hurl it at evil.
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I dont need to run my life like a production with an audience, I can just curl up into a ball in your lap, sign away my life on the dotted line, and let you take my last breath away. It's so easy to be breathed. All my love is yours, I submit, I serve, I worship.
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Obligation and expectation are a red blanket that I wave in front of myself, it stirs me up like a bull in frustration.
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When I'm ready to give up this life, I can have the next one.
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There's a beauty in hatred, which is distinct from rage and frustration. Hatred wants nothing more than to rest, and it builds that bed like a temple, with total respect to the ultimate goal. Hatred shrugs off small things with devotion that is true like water flowing downhill. The mind demands it be treated like a masterpiece in progress, dutiful and patient. It's so unfortunately that hatred cannot solve anything.
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To be broken and tortured does not mean you are lost, and does not mean anyone has won. What is endless, infinite, and entirely within you cannot be taken from you. You may find it useful to put part of yourself away in a cupboard in order to avoid more pain. It is not locked, and only you bring yourself back, just as only you can put yourself away. The guilt in losing your power to another comes from a well intentioned decision to cast the strong part of you off, for a time.
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"Why do I do this?" An accusation against an enemy. "Because I want...", an answer from a friend. Why not invite yourself in, instead of chasing with anger?
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What if everything you wanted existed in you? "But it doesn't" - notice how you ran from the question, that is not what I asked, why is that?
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The grim reaper, surely a kind being. He holds out his hand as a guide, how often in life do you get a guide? In death, nothing is hidden
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A content man asks no questions, and doesn't accept gifts. If we spoke with animals in their voice, and asked them, and offered to them, thye would say 'won't you shut up? we're trying to survive'.
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Sometimes we feel the winds that seem to want to snap us, this is because we have not bent in accordance with the new circumstances.
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Avoiding shame that you produce? Where else would the answers be. Ignoring any part of yourself is, by every definition, internal conflict. You are you.
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Addicted to senses. When you take my sight away I behave like a child losing their toy. There are others without that toy and they do not feel this tantrum, some were born without the capacity to become addicted to their sigh, or hearing, or any other sense. My sight is not me, and we know this because I call it 'my' and not 'me'. I may currently be in possession of it, but it can always be taken away. So I release my addiction to my sight and my senses. When I rely too much on them, I am overwhelmed.
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Your car may be yours right now, your youth and beauty may be yours right now, but they will be taken from you. Boast about these things, and they are only things, is like standing on quicksand, "look at how much taller I am than you"...right now.
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When you are in love with the world, you have to begrudingly yield to her, 'yes dear, I will accept more love and your jewels, again'.
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The kind of love that brings grim seriousness when I look at her, beauty that evokes despair in me, knowing she is something that I must die for, she is worth it, and I cannot make any other choice except what is completely right.
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What do I do with such a beautiful thing? That has come to an end in front of me and left me knowing how much I love you? An irradiated glow of love and kindness that I can never touch again.
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I take one small slow step. Then I worry I might become late and I start to run. I trip, I fall, and I remember to take one small slow step again.
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My heart is patchwork, each day I sew another stitch, trying to stop the cold wind from rushing in where you walked right through
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When you burst an old memory, it may fade so completely that you forgot it was ever there
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I look at her through the fog, I look at her with seriousness, I know she is to die for, I accept my fate
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If you never honestly wager on good outcome, how can you ever win?
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You have no right to your breath, in can be taken away. Everything has a right to hurt you, the right given by what is real. I have no right to my body. Resting in the peacefulness of what is, bestowed a body to be taken away.
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What do we possess? This second, not the one before and not the one after.
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Truth is the approver of the senses
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I let go of my self, and receive my strength. I let go of my sight, and receive appreciation for beauty. I let go of my soul, and watch it fall to hell. I receive the knowledge of where I am, so the path becomes clear.
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Thoughts of loneliness with weight like anvils, no one there to help you carry it, even when you just want to rest.
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Friends come and go, no unlike two leaves falling from the same tree, floating next to eachother for a short while.
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God, an argument in which I don't even have a point to prove, you have taken that from me, I can never win, you love me from the fourth dimension. I am helpless.
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My heart is open to you God, the waves of the love in your moonligh wash over my soul, filling my lungs and drowning me in love and compassion.
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In this place, I want you dead. My nostrils breathe in hatred and the energy of its fire. In this place there is only red, cast onto every thing in softness, which compells me like a bull to destroy. This is where I find my love for myself, and therefore you. Not above by throwing a rope into the empty air and trying to climb it, and calling it hope. I find my love from below, by submission, where almost all fear to go, becoming the path itself. In this room of brutal and warming constriction of my soul. This is where I find my love.
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Today I dropped a piece of worry, because I realized I didn't have to ever pick it up again.
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It was as though every thing, every bird, every view, had been crooked, and was now straightened. I didn't know that they were out of focus, so I shrugged their beauty off as mediocrity.
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It always hurts to watch part of me die, because he is altrustic, he gave me every part of himself so that I could leave him behind.Quite similar, maybe more, maybe less, than when a loyal guardian dies. Perhaps more than that, because he is much closer. I want to remember you forever, but to feel your sacrifice, I have to forget you, I have to let every part of you go. How can I ever, ever, give you all my thanks? I can't, and that helps me grow even more.
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