The truth of the matter,
Lies in some shadowed corner,
Far away from the candle and its light–
the music and the sight of some intricate design.
There is a longing for the past–
but a past beyond one’s own past,
That despite the illusion of time,
Feels as though it is a part of one’s own lifetime.
Everything beautiful makes me happy.
I find comfort in their appearance.
Things are solid, material, in one’s grasp.
Whereas ideas are as fleeting and invisible as the wind.
There is surely something beyond all this–
A place– distant, clear of all this.
It’s normal to forget it and only remember it,
When the work of some inspired individual reminds of it.
Accomplished in one’s own way,
But can’t help but know that there are aspects of life,
That are as foreign to me as a never seen distant world,
And the thought of lacking in that way, causes great shame and worry.
Isn’t destiny much like a final, completed composition?
–of musical notes that cannot be altered or varied,
And the experience of it depends solely
On the ability to follow all the notes?
It only makes sense then, and not only that.
It isn’t enough to hear it in order, and complete,
But rather, also to accept it, and feel pleasure in it.
That is the test and resolution of each and every single one.
And it’s not that all moments,
continue in emotional uproars.
The silence of not being disappointed,
can easily be interpreted as peace.
The altering, right decisions of life,
will never approach you as questions.
You shall never be given the option,
–never to choose or to decide.
They arrive to you already decided,
Leaving to you nothing more than
The option to accept and find contentment.
Or to struggle until you revert to the former.
You will never need to ponder.
Your gaze will never have to seek the horizons,
You will never have to worry about the tea going cold,
Or the tear falling on the wrong page of your book.
One morning, you shall wake up,
Just as you did the morning before,
Simply knowing what it is.
No other possibilities, and nothing more.