Perhaps a promise.

I’ve never seen a light that’s so bright
I’ve never seen a light that’s so bright
I’ve never seen a light that’s so bright
As the light that shines behind your eyes

I’ve never seen a light that’s so bright
I’ve never seen a light that’s so bright
I’ve never seen a light that’s so bright
Blinded by the light that’s inside you

Anathema, Untouchable part 1 and 2

I’ve come to believe that the most repulsive thing about current, ordinary life right now is the painful confusion between what is, and what should be, or might be. An unexplainable wish for what is commonplace and comfortable has carried us to a point where what is truly real is deemed as surreal, while a lifeless, complacent, depressing simulacrum passes off as reality/normality. There’s a sweetness and a lush everythingness seeping out of life, Life, and this seems to overwhelm people, to engulf them so suddenly and tumultuously that they stagger and fear and, eventually, forget. So it is that Life becomes ridiculous, impossible, a phantasm, and everyday life is now tantamount to a bleak quietude of the mind and the heart. Apprehensiveness, memory, a crippled culture crawling around our feet and trying to make us trip, pulling the corners of the sky downwards until it’s a monochrome dome, shrinking our paths, sneering in the face of any daring dream. There is so much beauty out there. There is so much beauty within. There is so much Life, melting and expanding over our bones, silently asking for attention. I’m not going all conspiracy-theory, nor trying to pull New Age rabbits out of the hat, it’s just that it’s undeniable that more and more people forsake their amazing beauty for nothing. Cause no, there’s absolutely nothing beyond that.

I am a part of all that I have met;
Yet all experience is an arch wherethrough
Gleams that untravelled world, whose margin fades
For ever and for ever when I move.
How dull it is to pause, to make an end,
To rust unburnished, not to shine in use!
As though to breathe were life. Life piled on life
Were all too little

Alfred, Lord Tennyson, Ulysses

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