Archive for life

Anyway…

“So you sailed away into a grey sky morning…”

“And now for something completely different.”

Anyway… the sun is shining and I’m going to enjoy that.

Fighting in a leaking boat

Sometimes I read or hear some people trying to put the blame of the state of our Earth on science and man’s greed for money or power. These days, with all the earthquakes, tsunamis and all other major disasters in the world, there’s a lot of that going around. It always saddens me when there is a disbelief in science – however, I get equally sad when people won’t see that science does not hold all the answers. There is still very, very much unaccounted for in this world, so why so much aggression between different world-views?

Logic does not state that the unknown should be of less worth than the known. Neither does it state that knowledge, as we as human beings can grasp it, is an absolute. There is always something new to learn about everything. I might think I know the fastest route to work, but like with most things I continuously find that I did not really know everything about that. I might not believe in angels and spirits and the like, but on the other hand I have no knowledge of such things, so I won’t tell you anything about it. What I do believe in is that this Earth is a living Earth (do not ask me to specify what I mean by living, you will have to use your own beliefs here) and that as such it is changing. All life is energy and energy is not still.

It’s not science or scientists that are the problems with everything bad happening on Earth; what is happening, sadly enough, is only the inevitable and natural course of the Universe. Being aggressive towards logical thinkers and scientists (not necessarily always the same) does not in any way help anyone or anything. Nor does it help the other way around. We are all in this one single boat together. Since it seems to be leaking, fighting in it seems to me to be a very bad thing.

My odyssey

Maybe my odyssey is not about the point of origin, but about the point of destination and the story that will unfold as I travel.

I do not know where I will end up when the road comes to an end. Maybe I will end up at home, or maybe I will end up somewhere else entirely. The important thing is how my journey will be, because that is where I will spend the most of my life.

I will never fear the end of the road, since I shall see that end whatever direction I may take; it is the road itself that I must be mindful of. The story is never about the end, it’s about the odyssey that is life – and I shall have made this a good one.

You’re a book

St. Augustine said: “The world is a book and those who do not travel read only one page” – the same can be said about life: know your self.

St. Augustine said: “The world is a book and those who do not travel read only one page” – the same can be said about life: know your self.

As we push on

The light always seems too bright when you have spent a long time in the dark. It hurts your eyes. There is an actual pain and you want to avert your eyes, even if you do not really want to, it is what you do to avoid the immediate pain, and then, you turn your gaze back onto the light and again off and on, until you can see more clearly. Should the light then disappear and you find yourself in the dark again, you do no longer feel at home in the dark like you did before – it is worse than before, because for a while now you will be blind and you long for the light to return. Suddenly you feel cold and alone in the dark.

You know you did not start out that way; once you were in the light, once, a very long time ago, but somewhere along the road it got darker and darker until the light was all gone. That was a long time ago and all you can remember, if anything, was that something is missing.

Love. The light of the heart, the reason for everything, the very reason of life. You remember it vaguely. Like some all but forgotten dream you had a long time ago. You sit there in the dark, because now you are blind and there is much reason to not walk blindly down the road. Not just now anyway. You need to get adjusted to the dark before you move on again.

After a while you feel you need to decide if you push on or if you stay. Most of us push on, but some stay. Some stay in the general area, too scared to go on like the blind. Some stay permanently right where they lost the light. Some more than others. Permanently, only leaving their breath, their short lived imprints on the ground, there, somewhere in the dark. Fragments remembered by only a few and ever slowly fading into the full darkness, where no one will ever find what once were and is no more.

The few that remember go on carrying the imprints in the light of their hearts, but the imprints are stained, like the broken glass on the ground at an old abandoned house. You remember the old times, the old familiar feelings about them. Near, but never near enough to touch and you feel saddened by it and you push it away as far as possible. As though you do not want to be cut by the glass, you push it to the side with your shoe and you look at it again and tell yourself that it was a long time ago, another life, another world entirely. You walk away. And they stay.

For the ones that do push on in the darkness there is still hope for the light again. That is why they push on. They cannot stay, not there, in the dark, all alone and cold. There is always hope, even if faint at best at times, that they will see the light again. Love. Life. The reason for moving. The reason for all movement in the universe.

Being the reason for all movement in the universe, love finds the ones that seek it. It does not stay, because it is the reason for everything, the reason for movement. The cause of it.

We may not always have a clear vision and sometimes it will hurt our eyes for a while, especially if we lose track of where it is. The turns we can, might and will take are plenty and not always is the path clear, and at times our view of the stars are obscured by the clouds or some fog that lie heavily and thick before us. Those are the times we must rely on our instincts, on our faith that our movement will lead us back to the light, to love. We never give up that hope, and it is our hope that keeps us moving and it is our moving that gives us hope.

We may not always know the direction exactly and we may even be way off course, but we push on, because we know that there is light out there somewhere. The ones that do not seek it might not find it and even the ones that seek might not always find the kind of light sought for on the first try or even on the eleventh one, but if your heart is in it, and you keep your faith in it, the light will shine upon you and you will find yourself, after a while, looking straight into it again and it will be the light the guides you home.

Home. I remember home. Faint, but more and more for each day that passes in the light. I can almost make it out, there, ahead of me. There, before my eyes, where the light shines.

For the ones that was not born into the light and never got a chance to see it, I weep. For the ones that stayed in the dark, I weep. And so does all that seek the light.

The light. Love. The very cause of movement. The cause of all life. I remember life. I am moved by it. It caused me and through me more life and more love and more light. Love is not still, it moves and causes more love, more light, more life – and life is what you are and by that: love. You are love, you are life and you are light. You have never been anything else. Remember that.

And remember that the ones that stayed in the dark were no different from you. Sometimes we forget that, when we stumble over them and pass them in the dark.

I am home

The book that I am writing, although mostly still only in my heart, is being re-written and again written on new, fresh pages. The story is as new as it is old and it takes me there, to a place I once was familiar with, a place that I used to know and lived in. My travels brought me far away from the place I once called home.

I am going back there now, to the place which once was home, and I find that the path is slightly different than I remembered – it’s still the same, but different, as though I see it with the eyes of the child for the first time.

The sea is calm and draws me nearer my birth place in a slow but steady pace. The winds are favourable and view is clear. I can see the shores where I once used to run as a child. The child that is still within me, me the man, the newly born soul with the open heart.

There is a beacon beckoning me home, steering me right. I can hear it sing through the air, brought by the winds, the voice of the almost forgotten. There is a promise of peace again. I can feel it as it flows through my once uneasy body.

As I land and feel the sand under my feet, I know that this adventure has only just started and I lay down right then and there, just to stay in that moment for a little while longer. I am, strangely as it may still seem to me, home again. I start to cry. I am home.

The fusion of minds

I find myself in bewildered amazement. And it is a good thing. The fusion of minds is a wondrous thing. Not easy, but wondrous.

In awe, I am

In the absence I am distracted to a tremble by every sound and by the heat of it all. How strange turns a path sometimes holds for us. It can question the map you hold in your hand and rightly so, for who are we to know the complexity of truth? There are explanations to everything, but I do accept that I will not always have or get them. In awe, I am.