I wish my silence could convey the little I long for..
The weirdest thing about expression is that it squeezes you out like a fluffed up ball of thoughts. There is always a fear of giving out what one thinks belongs to his very soul. And yet, most of us are craving to share, to heal ourselves in the selfish act of sharing our sorrows.
Loneliness is such a trouble that it takes long to deal with its repeated attacks. We make the gravest mistakes with people who matter the most. Guilt is the only one that stubbornly holds on to us until we are freed into togetherness.
“I want to see, real, living, and in the hours of my own days, that glory I create as an
illusion. I want it real. I want to know that there is someone, somewhere, who wants it, too. Or
else what is the use of seeing it, and working, and burning oneself for an impossible vision? A
spirit, too, needs fuel. It can run dry.”
People say that human beings are microcosms and this outer
universe a macrocosm,
but for us the outer is a tiny wholeness and
the inner life the vast reality.
Someone who goes with half a loaf of bread
to a small place that fits like a nest around him,
someone who wants no more, who’s not himself
longed for by anyone else,
He is a letter to everyone. You open it.
It says, Live.
best wakefulness in sleep,
wealth in having
are many rules about restraint
with the former, but only one rule for the latter,
Never be satisfied.