i was alone, driving cautiously through the hilly and winding roads along the north-western border, and it was then  i finally met solitude. and death. we can accept the isolation of the self and the finality of death, that life is a process of dying alone.

it was there i was re-taught the virtues of mindfulness of the self and one's isolated connection with others. 

i felt solitude then. i have forgotten. taken for granted with the world's attachments, like weeds that cling painfully to almost barren soils, solitude left me struggling, that living is the process of dying fully.


there it was, in the shadows, lurking - a feeling of dread, discomfort, stress, agitation. and often times you pay a great deal of your life to suppress or deny its very being persisting inside of you

be kinder to yourself. 

one step at a time, you'll then find clarity, relief, comfort, vitality in your quest to save the world.



you hear honest words that hurt. you were off-guard. defensive. lost.

it is when words penetrate most that you realise you need to be better. detachment. passion. calmness. self-awareness. confidence. assertiveness. 



how did you come to this point losing what matters most in living.


re-writing life

she must have waited.
the blossoming from parched earth. the drizzling from heated skies.
how gentle the pulling 
pushes, scrapes,
flushes and drapes.

i should have felt it.
the branching from fertile rivers and lakes. the spreading of colors 
once lost in the wilderness of routine
pushes, dares,
flushes and flares.

a new-born.


seeing over

with me sits a coffee cup. 
iced watered coffee dregs - the cup is almost overflowing
with time taking its slow toll for dissolution. 

my life lays and my life lies.
as the last breath is taken away, the falsity of lived moments take their rightful places
that there is truth in dying. 

he told me more than once.
he dreams of death - a floating kind of empty existence. 
he sees his world in fast motion and he sees himself -
with consciousness is there life?
with consciousness is there death?
is death the unknowing - what is existence?

i fear to leave again
that in leaving i can never return.

there is an overflowing.
there is also - in dreaming -
an over-flowering.