Reality is dense. Realisations are the impacts this reality makes. It’s the stuff of substance and dust and ash. It is dirty and it is raw. It is the smell of offal or tramps under a bridge. It is somehow always rubbing shoulders with evil, by its very disposition to fall by the law of gravity. Darkness, in other words.
Make of it what you like. Pick from any term you please: ravishing, challenging, enchanting, insiduous, cruel… mix a cocktail to your preference. Weak, strong, hair on end, knock me down with a feather, or free of everything, zen neutral zoned-out bland.
We only know the real by really confronting it, with our senses. Take a look, lend an ear, touch upon and hold close.
The mentally ill have no choice but to face the beast. They have to walk, like zombies, right into the middle of the maze of their brains. It won't bother them at first. Not until they wake up.
Life is what you make out of all that is possible; your paints are all the possibles you choose to dip your brush into. Most of us have ordinary lives - a basic palette - and frame ourselves with the usual non-descript frame or even go around frameless. We forget the value of being unique and authentic. Remember, though, your heart, that half a pound of flesh that must tip the scales in your favour, even if you forget which half is your right brain.
Every bit of sea you dangle your fishing rod into is yours to call your own. It doesn’t belong to you and make sure you don’t end up belonging to it! Thank the fish that rewards you for being the fisherman. Cure the sterile and fertilise the needy. Holding to the good path for as long as you can should do the trick.
