Doors open without keys

I’d like to see doors open without keys. The display of sharpened tools on an obtuse table does not impress what I dearly hold inside- still half undiscovered, half in the process. Yet there is a smirk on the blinded tool-wishers that recollect around the table in a second and a constantly repeating cycle of watching, holding, turning around to tell the ones who are too small to see, and then returning to the table. Hold the little ones to the table for your own sake, and throw the tools away. In limitless time of absence from distractions, you and they might see the sky, consciously or by following an escaped ray. If you have the purity to hold the little one, the ray will find in it the mercy to escape from There and shine on you, dying in the process and never entering There, yet the ray knows you will live forever and it itself not will. You will live forever, and nothing else will, not even your body. So who are you fooling by wishing for the tools? Anyone else than yourself? If yes, come and whisper into my ear, and I will see your voice vibrate as you start to tell the lie. Embrace the Extraordinary, not the tools that will vanish; if you taste even a drop of the Extraordinary, you will know how you had enslaved yourself in desire for objects that are not worth your attention. You will live forever, and once you have embraced that truth, it will change everything. Everything will become Extraordinary; in fact, the Extraordinary will become your everything, and the ordinary will just dim in its unfettered Brilliance.

In the words of Da Vinci

"Iron rusts from disuse, stagnant water loses its purity and in cold becomes frozen, even so does inaction sap the vigors of the mind."

Just revving up

Just discovered that when you try to write after an immodereately long hiatus, words seem to adumbrate into the deepest crevices of your mind....a writer's block - the five dollar word for the uncanny phenomenon....but when you try to haul them out of their clandestine abode you end up createing a semblance, an illusion of expression that depicts nothing but nothing. And what's a better muse than nothing!

What makes you bewildered?

does the sunshine falling on a dew that just learned to drop to its unknown flight, hold your attention? or do you see your dreams and hopes held, in the fast and savage world? does silence hold your attention, more than constant noise? does life seems more free in the wild, than in the souls living in buildings high-rise? after traveling so far on wearied feet, sit down, take a break, and take a few steps into yourself.

the journey of life should be small steps towards the mirage this world holds,

but an endless dive inside the self with no hope of return.