Restless.
As always; it is nothing new. I know exactly what the yearning is, I know what I had to give up to be where I am.
You climb a mountain, and know you could be happy living on the top of it, but you realize that there is another just at the horizon. Not necessarily taller, only different. I guess so religions would call my state of mind Samsara, it entails suffering because it means that one is always longing for something else.
Excuse me, but I beg to differ on the desirability of that state. Yes there are tears, but I do not want to give up on the messiness of living. I am my madness, my tears, my risks and my moments of ephemeral joy.
When you move across an ocean, or across the equator, as is the case with me, you learn to make do with what is at hand and without some of what you treasure. It is a pact with the devil, in a way, because you run the risk of getting used to whatever it was that you gave up, of becoming this other person without realizing. Every one is a while I see him in the mirror he is terrified of me because he knows that his victories never last.
There are many more futures that are not foreclosed than the ones that are now beyond the realm of what can be lived. The possibilities are not infinite, but they are endless for me. I canot let go of my infinite curiosity, it is almost like nostalgia for a past unlived, what will keep me always going. I do not cease to be fascinated by things and people that are wholly different from me. I already see eye to eye with myself and my life, so why the hell would I want to only know what I already do?
Hence the longing. I already know the here and now, and I am impatient.
As always; it is nothing new. I know exactly what the yearning is, I know what I had to give up to be where I am.
You climb a mountain, and know you could be happy living on the top of it, but you realize that there is another just at the horizon. Not necessarily taller, only different. I guess so religions would call my state of mind Samsara, it entails suffering because it means that one is always longing for something else.
Excuse me, but I beg to differ on the desirability of that state. Yes there are tears, but I do not want to give up on the messiness of living. I am my madness, my tears, my risks and my moments of ephemeral joy.
When you move across an ocean, or across the equator, as is the case with me, you learn to make do with what is at hand and without some of what you treasure. It is a pact with the devil, in a way, because you run the risk of getting used to whatever it was that you gave up, of becoming this other person without realizing. Every one is a while I see him in the mirror he is terrified of me because he knows that his victories never last.
There are many more futures that are not foreclosed than the ones that are now beyond the realm of what can be lived. The possibilities are not infinite, but they are endless for me. I canot let go of my infinite curiosity, it is almost like nostalgia for a past unlived, what will keep me always going. I do not cease to be fascinated by things and people that are wholly different from me. I already see eye to eye with myself and my life, so why the hell would I want to only know what I already do?
Hence the longing. I already know the here and now, and I am impatient.