Since I read the paragraph I wrote my thoughts have gone somewhere else. Do you get that? The monkey brain. Here yet not here. There yet not there. Jumping all over the place there is no place for this errant thoughts. I see myself saying alot of this to myself yet nothing comes to mind.
The errant thoughts that plague my mind always seem to take me other places. Like walks in the beach. I am not sure why I even wrote that but yet the beach. I am yearning for it all the time. I am scared no one will hear me. Its very much all the same isn't isn't it.
I am glad that I have found some talent. I see it sometimes and sometimes I don't . Useless thoughts I know. But being obsolete is not something I like. Work is beyond other than work. I can see it in my mind yet I am procrastinating how I should proceed. Even though I have found the reasons to continue. I am just holding this thoughts inside of me. I want to release it.
Why are we here. I ask myself that all the time. Not to anyone in particular fur to myself as a whole. Hmm seems the light in my office has died... Distraction is beyond me. No pictures other than what I paint with my words. So what am I painting then.
Are we not looking into the sunset. The waves are crashing softly on the shores. The orange and yellows in the horizon. The light is fading into the back of the mountain. A mountain over the ocean in front of the beach that you stand on. The seagulls are flying in formation.
Where are we now? There are other thoughts. Within this mind I sense that there are confusion looming. What do we do now. Whatever is happening there is lots of things that flow through me however the cosmos always occupies my head. My insignificance. My purpose. My will. Hah. Mind blank again. It's not so much that I don't think I there is nothing there.. More I cannot fathom what they are.
Like a cosmic message flowing through space. I have no capacity to understand what they all mean. I always think I am so small yet feel so large when I compare myself to something small all the time. Words. Such wonderful pictures come from them. Like the scriptures that give meaning so do small thoughts that are written well. Is it not a good idea we move on to get out of whence we came. The ashes? The dust? The soil. We tread on it all the time yet we do not fully understand what it is that make us. Who we are.
A blank picture of nothing yet something.
