Thursday, February 26, 2009
Sometimes I feel at a maximum, sometimes I feel incapable of producing happiness for others. My words, as truth, as raw as the flesh of my heart speak of prospects, of the strength of the soul, but humor none for their source of seriousness. I try, and I try, and though many know me as a goof, there are those who know me as intense and very serious. Can it be said that the texture of the desert can be moved, but never for too long for what makes the texture and grooves of a sand dune is persistent, like the wind that matches such lands, they live in harmony; dependent of each other for their existence.
I am but a photograph; a vessel for your memory, and through time I retain that memory, holding it as true as the moment with my facilities. Over time I produce more and more meaning upon each visit, as you change yourself upon each moment. I take away from the on-going moment in stillness and mediation, I see a world that you never knew of, and I do it all for you. My words, my vision, and everything in-between, are mere reflections, reactions that are meaningless without the source of influence, and that I owe everything to those I have known, and the places I have been. Without, I am but a vessel, a space-like void upon a canvas; the pearl of a blank exposure. And with this, I say, I owe a lifetime, a history, to those I have known, and more, to those who I have loved and adored.
A narrative continues as my hands are guided by yours, as you, and I, paint the picture of our days, whether you know we are together on each and every moment we share.