refound December thoughts....

“There is beauty, love, inspiration, darkness, despair & fear in your life. But your eyes, your expression, your words speak of great hunger- an endless painful longing that gnaws at your heart and soul and creates a huge emptiness. You fall from stars rather than into them. You stuff life into yourself wastefully, but your inner landscape remains a shaky island threatened by the harsh winds of (self-) detest that wash merciless waves of destruction over you. You are soaked in dirt, you freeze, you shake, you cry, you die of loneliness. And still you rebel, you rage against a menacing world of which you assume that it is outside when it is inside you. You bring yourself to a fall. The outside just echoes what is going on inside. The dirt thrown into your face equals the poison you drown your screaming soul in. Your soul keeps on rumbling and fighting and resisting - so do the people who wash the dirt off your face to touch the wet burning cheeks of the angel boy underneath…”


“One and the same. Every day breathing in, breathing out. Traceless footsteps on swept floors. Words uttered and forgotten. Hours of thought dumped into a waste bin. The icy horror of hollowness creeps up my spine. I mute it with the transient pleasure of wearing a newly bought jacket. Everyday I collect shells when I marsh the shores of deeper seas hidden inside those people I meet- in gazes, touches, words & gestures. By the end of the day the shells have become one and the same - empty, indistinguishable, stripped off covers. I stuff them into boxes placed on the edge of my memory. Silently they tip over and into oblivion. If I printed my heart into the sand, would you wipe out the trace? Careless but without intent or on purpose but without a reason? This is what we do to each other every day. Our shores and shells stay one and the same. But what do we take with us into the sea if all we achieve with our floods of life is erasure of traces rather than collection of the trace-makers? Are we afraid to drown each other? Are we afraid of the depths in each other that might harm us if we reach out too far- if we gaze too long, touch too passionately, give wings to words, invite with gestures, sing along to our soul´s melody & poetry so it may find an echo? Blessed be the Obsessed because they know neither measure nor fear of getting lost. What is all the restriction good for? Why rather hide than give ourselves? What is worse: Getting hurt or remaining untouched, an oblivious memory, gathered for a moment, forgotten for eternity? My need for self-exposure might be my weakness but my incapability of hiding myself might be my ticket to ride straight into another´s unanswered heart. A heart asking: Who pulls into her arms the mighty feelings of my true and inner Me that I push into a starless sky without direction? It´s me. Come to me. We are for each other the long awaited fulfillment of the wishes we made when we first saw a shooting star. Out there you are. Here I am. I will find you. I promise.”