I’m unsure as to why I went through all this trouble for this. But hell, why not give it a go. Perhaps this portal can be my connection to the creator. The modern version of it anyway. The one that gets you sucked in all the while giving you access to such insufferable knowledge. The knowledge of the human condition. The one that consumes people. Its symptoms are revealed through patterns of recognition treated by quick concoctions. At what cost you might ask? The cost of fearing un unbearable existence. Perhaps the anecdote is To create. To make. To think. To speak. To interact with a world that is full of wonders and terrors. For one cannot exist without the other. One that is only experienced through the eyes of the receiver. As each receives a different reality, it becomes our mission to understand the layering behind the drapes of itself. It is never just physical, nor chemical, nor worshipped. It is through the connectivity of it all. We find our way through others yet through no one but yourself. To understand myself is to understand my parents. The ones I am made of. Am I of them? sure. But as my own being, I can find the path outside the imposition of the ones who so gratefully took me in their care. I cannot fathom being a parent, for that means allowing yourself to be exposed with yet another facade you haven’t met. A change I am not quite ready for. I yearn for connection. The kind that is fleeting, yet everlasting. The kind that means nothing, yet it find itself itched in your being. To world can only become shareable when we understand the meaning of living through ourselves but through others. Through others is to understand thyself.

Thank you. I send a thought to all the people that have crossed my path, to the ones that I have yet to meet, and the ones whose impacted my growth in any and all ways. Let your wisdom be shown. For it is the key to opening up a world of creatives. Of a new perspective. One that isn’t meant to exploit, but to admire. We are not permanent. This applies to joyful moments, to saddening ones, and especially to the hopeless nights. The lingering. The boredom. They are gifts. Gifts only free people would appreciate. The power to think. The power to see through the veil. Through the cacophony. To sit in vibrations. To understand the architect, the builder and the clay is a gift that not all can handle. To become one with it and live freely through the unconventional path of suffering. Being free isn’t for the weak of heart. It is a burden one must carry indefinitely for the soul is only a traveler. I may not know what I am doing here, but I know I am here for great things. I simply cannot define great quite just yet.