My Writings

The Watershed

I have lost all senses in my fist, it is clenched so tightly that I cannot open my hand. Good. May it hold you there and never let go, so I can keep you close to my heart, always. Let something good become of those hands, they have engaged in insult enough. Holding you is the best that they have ever done.

In crawling out of the fog, the poison of life wearing off, I ask myself, have I dragged myself a single step towards you, did I manage? All grows quiet, all sinks into light and only the times when I sheltered others from hurt, even from myself, stand out.

Everything else is bewilderment, infatuation and want. To seek something, to appear as a lacking man, to once again study faces – can you give me what I want, do you have what I need? In that way many have come, gorged on my life force and the gifts that it offers and have left empty-handed. I have become just like them.

Thus His sun burns the minds that see His face, freeing them. I had forgotten how to love, but now that river flows undisturbed towards my sea. I did not see that I, surrounded by riches, made myself poor. I needed only to change my perception, but it would have been easier to count all grains of sand on the shore.


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