Simplicity of Life
"Anything more than a breath of air is a gift."
I write for the people with whom I am able to meet while I am on the road. I write in fiction so that I am not the focal point of any novel, article or piece. I want the focus to be on the people and places about which I am writing.
Flying has permitted me access to the furthermost reaches of this world without worrying about how to arrive at my destination! I concentrate on the journey and what it means to be going.
When traveling out of out comfort zone, the world dictates many things, and maybe the only thing we dictate: our attitude toward what is going on around us.
I could live a poor life creating words and would be just as content, although tortuous; the final product creates some sort of hope.
The truest-ultimate outcomes seem to simply arrive from non-standard thoughts!
I feel as if I am going to die too soon and if it were 40 years from now it is far too soon; for that is thy now which I feel in my infinite mortality.
Skeptics are thee downfall unto their own self.
Have no possessions, in life, except so much love, which feels as if you could grasp this entity.
As humans we do not lose the ability to learn as we grow older but rather we lose the ability to integrate ourselves as well as open up to what we may see as a slight difference.
A poet speaks so soft the world does not even need to ignore his words—they simply skip over their two ears.
“Did you count?” He asked.
“Count what?” His mate responded.
“Your blessings!”
“What?”
“Huh!”
“I do not know what you mean? And what were they, my blessings?”
“Your breathing!” He said with a slight smirk, “Anything more than a breath of air is a blessing.”
When the wind is just right…grasp a hold-gentle yet grasp with meaning, permitting the breeze to take you to your true love.
The world we aim and the world we settle……..SHHHHH I talk not of it. One needs only to listen to thy roar within to know of which you know.
Traveling makes you release your strength, becoming vulnerable, not remembering where you were, and to where you are going, just letting lose your physical to permit your soul to grow.
Life is naturally imperfect due to the inability to hold that perfectly fleeting instance.
To steal an experience is to live a moment of fiction.
What I have fallen in love with is thee ambiguous ending, future of sorts–coming from somewhere: unaware of thy next step yet allowing myself to now feel all is calm.
Do not……visit—live……it.
The grand naïveté of us humans- we somehow believe we can prepare for the unknown, and with the unknown comes the inability to truly prepare.
Again, the toughest thing is a good-bye! Believe me, I know.
The name on the book needs to be smaller than the title of the book; the book matters, not the writer.
When nothing feels normal, remain in character.
Great things do not happen to patient people, but rather impossible things do.
Approach the “truly difficult” with casual banality.
The richer the soul the less external objects cluttering thy mind.
To bleed from an experience is to live a fleeting moment; to feel an ache in your heart is to be infinitely altered.
Rarely is something an accident, by someone who thinks.
We can only visit our soul when we visit the hidden parts of life, which reveal our true self.
Be tactfully impossible to live without.
Write with such intensity that the first page can never be read the same way twice.