At my father’s deathbed, the way I thought about time flipped.
All in Reflections
I used to dream about the job that I'd really like. Now, I've decided to view my career in an other-focused way.
And like fireflies, it's wonderful and reasonable and uplifting to have those fireflies held in those jars, even though we know that's not where they belong. They belong in nature, where god created them. I think art is meant to be free.
When people don't sacrifice, it seems like non-optimal outcomes happens...if all that happens is take-take-take, there eventually won't be enough left to give, right?
It makes me wonder, what do our cities say about us? Our homes? Our website history? Even the stuff we generally carry on our persons.
I believe it's important for people to have time by themselves, but a person should never have to be alone.
Basically, I asked him: “how did you find your purpose?”
If you DON'T know them, why be a jerk?
A poem reflecting on a cross-country trip with my father.
They are so similar it doesn't surprise me that they fought. They were trying to be the same guy. It's the same reason my father and I argue.
It's a rush to feel like you are doing something...controlling something...and making progress.
Someone elses soul was visiting me tonight, I think. After it came and left, I danced. It was the first time I can remember being at peace, by myself.