Sunday, December 13, 2015

Your World is Your Reflection [Poem]

The mini meadows of green grass that are scattered, strangely, amid the concrete chaos of our cities, emanating simple stillness.


The ruined relics of steel structures in the ominous outskirts of suburbia, which make for amusing adventures to ascend.


The wondrous woods when they are sunny and sublime, or when they are shadowy and secretive, perfect places for reflection and reverence.


The bountiful bookstores filled with timeless treasures on every conceivable concept, visited voraciously by aged, amiable souls.


The blissful beaches where the opulent ocean and the splendorous sky meet, giving tantalizing tastes of a promised paradise.


These are the sort of scenes that I meet myself in, and I often wondered why.

I realize, now, it is because these are the places that are my soul's likeness.

 


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Read more poems here



Wednesday, December 9, 2015

To Live is to be Marked [Poem]

To live is to be marked. 

When we are born we are a fresh motion of the universe.
We are born an energy of overflowing newness
unleashed upon an ancient complexity of causes. 
We are thrown into a world of people who have been marked, 
and we delight them with our marklessness.
“All children are kind and forgiving” I have heard us say, us marked ones.
They speak of marklessness with a voice both joyful and sorrowful.
Joyful, 
because marklessness exists.
Sorrowful, 
because they know it is transient,
because

To live is to be marked. 

When we grow up the universe changes us as we change the universe.
Some of our markings are like scars from daggers, 
and other markings are like the sweet moisture that remains from a kiss.
The shadows of our memories follow us everywhere we go, 
conditioning our experiences, 
and those conditioned experiences themselves become new memories,
which further condition our experiences. 

To live is to be marked
to change, to become, to be wounded, to be touched,
to live is to be-born-die-and-be-reborn-again and again.

Tuesday, December 1, 2015

Indoctrination [Poem]

Some kids play sports, some kids cry, 
all I did was ask “Why, why, why?” 
All my nights were vivid dreams, 
All my days I played by streams.  

*

Some kids did physical activity, 
but I was stuck in thought-captivity. 
Playing with forms and stories in my brain, 
no one ever built brakes on my thought-train. 

The society outside was neat, organized, 
everything fits into a box and gets analyzed. 
Inside me was an invisible place of genesis, 
unformed mind-stuff, nescience, and desires endless. 

To me, the mission of all adults seemed to be: 
make my soul like the society outside me, 
something labelled, boxed, with rational utility.
But why? I couldn’t understand this mad futility.  

I resisted this with all of my might, 
something about it just never seemed right.
They wanted to transform me into an adult - 
But tired misery seemed to be their result. 

But punishment is a persuasive teacher. 
I ceased being an innocent, chaotic creature. 
I took on the guise of the diligent student, 
and subjugated enjoyment to being prudent.  

I rebelled silently in the imaginary  
the space behind my eyes was my sanctuary 
But I couldn’t blur the world into a lie for long 
soon reality would face me sternly and strong. 

Sunday, November 29, 2015

The Purpose of Your Life [Poem]

The Purpose of Your Life 


The purpose of your life 
cannot
simply cannot 
be survival. 
Why? 
Because your quest for survival is doomed. 
No matter what, you are going to die. 
These things may or may not be real: 
Financial Security 
Everlasting Happiness 
True Contentment
But you can be certain that death is real. 
Overwhelmingly real. 
Self-preservation
(the most common of pursuits)
will always end in 
failure. 

Everyone and everything
No matter how much we cherish 
No matter how much we enshrine
No matter how much we fight
will be
hurt
humiliated
before
perishing
and then being
forgotten. 

But I know that even though no one has ever survived

I know that people have been good. 
That goal
is more achievable:
Even though they died as anyone else, 
they still bestowed
soul-smiles
heart-healings 
tenderness-times
and that is enough. 
That goal
is more permanent: 
Every act of goodness is eternal.
Do you not feel the ripples of loving-kindness, 
flowing across time to wash over you?

When death comes to devour you, 
fight him unrelenting tenacity,
just to reveal your strength of character,
so that he can know what measure of man he is taking today:
Not someone whose body outlived their soul, 
but someone who loved life and will miss it and be missed by it. 
Someone who knew that the only true defeat is giving up, 
and the only true victory is to keep fighting, 
someone who audaciously laughs at death, whispering:
“I won!”








Wednesday, October 28, 2015

Honour, you tease me [Poem]

Honour, you tease me
A Poem by Dylan Grant

Inner Inferno:
Ambition competes with love.
Honour, you tease me. 
As do you, my beloved.
How can I balance these two? 

For in her embrace, 
What need have I of honour? 
I get too content. 
Without prestige’s fragrance,
Would you still long for me, love? 

Even if you would, 
Could I tolerate myself? 
Without victory, 
Without self-overcoming, 
I’m like any other man. 

Oh sweetest woman, 
My heart floods with warmth for you. 
But begone from me!  
Leave my presence and my thoughts.
My fiery blood wants war.

And when I return, 
From slaying my weaknesses, 
And feasting upon
the delights of the struggle, 
We’ll perhaps love as before. 



——————————-- -- -- -- 


Sunday, September 20, 2015

Green-Gold Lands Sublime [Poem]


Green-Gold Lands Sublime
by Dylan Grant


In these green-gold lands sublime, 
I can’t help but be filled with rhyme. 
Everywhere I look: dance and song! 
When I'm away from Nature too long, 
I think my anxieties 
are actually realities 
and I take my life to be all,
though I am only very small.

Do you hear Nature,
our parent-teacher?
From the ground and the sky, do you hear her speak? 
“All beings must struggle to live. No place for the weak.
To remain comfortable is to decay, 
and eventually for that with your life you'll pay. 
Therefore, always strive to be higher and higher! 
To see all beings evolve is my driving desire.

All life, even if armed with tooth and claw, 
must obey this one omnipresent law:  
The world does not belong to any one form of life. 
Take what you need so resources will be rife. 

Oh my child! Hear the subtle symphony 
Of the bird, the wind, the stream, and the tree. 
Feel the peaceful perfection of the clouds above, 
All of these reveal ineffable divine love. 
Let this pure sweetness caress your inmost soul, 
until you can’t resist being part of the whole,
until you can’t stand being dissonant
in this world harmonious and infinite”

Thus the Gods and Goddesses spoke to me,
in their language of symbols and synchronicity. 
Divinity speaks through all phenomena, 
when you see this life as just a drama,  
when you make your deepest mind receptive,
by freeing it from the social collective, 
and making it a joyful habit to meditate.  
When the Gods' character you imitate, 
and when their esoteric words you heed,  
nothing in this world you’ll ever need,
for we just play our parts in the divine play, 
this we’ll see fully on our dying day.

I realized when I went to the wood:
that the universe is innately good. 




Thursday, September 17, 2015

Pink Glow [Poem]

Your face is lit up
with a pink glow.
Your eyes say, 
“I love being 
so close
to
you”

A beautiful body and a soul pure, 
how could I ever resist that allure? 

I tell you my naked thoughts
you understand. 
I love you uninhibitedly
you reciprocate. 
I touch you tenderly
you delight in it. 
I trace hearts on your back,
you smile. 

It's your love I get to receive?
It seems too good to believe. 

I want to take you 
to a paradise of cuddles. 
I want to take you
on adventures
and watch 
these shared moments
become 

precious memories. 

It all seems like a gift divine, 
being able to call you mine. 




Thursday, August 27, 2015

Now, I ask [Poem]

The opulent sky awes me,
the elegant earth woos me.

The world is beautiful,
so life must be beautiful too.

That's how I
used
to think.

But now,
I ask:

Is the world's beauty only skin deep?
Are blue skies an omen of rainy days to come?
Is summer's gold-green a harbinger of winter's grey-black?



Tuesday, August 18, 2015

There Are Times [poem]

There are times, Oh Lord, when I see the dots connect, 
and I feel like a character in a drama written by You. 
The universe and my inmost soul seem in perfect harmony, 
and I hear their music and see their dance. 
I chase these moments of ultimate purpose. 

There are times, Oh Lord, where I feel lost
in a land of confusion and darkness.  
Where my dreams are illusions, and my ideals are lies, 
and my whole existence seems absurd and strange. 
Where my soul would rather retreat into apathy, 
than live in this world of nihilistic madness.  
In these moments of confronting the void,         
I always try to look hard for a light, 
and if I cannot find one, I make one. 

There are times, Great God, when I feel ALIVE!
My whole body-mind-spirit bursts with vitality
and I unleash actions upon actions on the world
and cannot do anything else because my whole self
is immersed in this world of doing and becoming and 
PERCEPTION!

But then there are times, Great God, where I merely exist.
I feel as though I am two: I am an observer and the observed…
and of these two, I am mostly the latter. 
I cannot act because I am paralyzed by contemplation, 
and I feel not in the world but above or beyond it..
as though I am a neutral and passive observer of events,
and have never been anything else. 
My senses are too blurred by endless self-reflection, 
and I cannot do anything other than 
Think...

There are times when I feel plugged into other people,
their thoughts, their perceptions, their actions, their spirit... 
and together we create a whole other reality. 
A bigger world than what either of us could do alone.

And then there are times when I feel truly isolated
and an immeasurable gap separates everyone from me. 
And the space in-between that gap
and whatever goes on the other side of it
is just
alien 
to me. 

There are times, Beloved God, 
when my soul feels like a battlefield:

Righteous Reason Versus Sensuous Passion
Burning Ambition Versus Cold Lethargy
Black-Hole Selfishness Versus Overflowing Compassion
Mental Quiescence Versus Mental Activity
My Ideals Versus My Reality
My Actual, Present Self Versus My Imagined, Future Self.

As though life is
nothing other than this constant conflict. 
Worse, Beloved God, there are times
I am not even sure which side 
should win - or 
even is winning! 

Moments like these, My God, are waves
that arise and dissolve in my ocean of consciousness,
and their arising, dissolving, being -
is all a great mystery to me.
I am just a student,

I am just a child.

Monday, August 10, 2015

Check out this site

Hello everyone. I very rarely do anything like this, but I would like to call your attention to my friend's new blog, and highly suggest that you check it out. He is a great writer and you will find awesome things on this site: http://mdmanderson.blogspot.com

Friday, July 31, 2015

Drunk with Pain [Poem]

I stumble and stammer
all night in the rain,
tripping into puddles,
I'm drunk with pain.

Teardrops and raindrops
are now coalesced,
How can I be happy?
I'm no longer blessed.

I ventured far, so far,
and escaped my home-nest.
And after all of that,
I failed my initiation quest.

I sought Sacred Knowledge,
but received a Guru's wrath.
Worst of all is knowing this:
I'm astray on the inward path.

I am filled with deep horror,
as I look at the depth of my vice.
They are innumerable, I know.
To redeem myself I'll pay the price.

Thinking:
"in just a few days
There'll be another tragedy
Will all of my hopes,
ever escape grief's gravity?

Has all of this
made a permanent toll?
For the rest of my days,
will I just be a broken soul?

For my youthful dreams
have all at once evaporated.
My passionate ideals,
are, by reality, humiliated."

I cry:
"How can a romanticist,
like me, live without dreams?
I want to imagine anew.
I don't have it in me, it seems.

Oh God, what is the cause of this?
Can I please just blame fate?
Did I make a grave mistake?
I'll never know. That, I hate!"

My anguish reaches its apex,
as the rain begins to clear.
It's just a twist in this life story,
I sense a new chapter's near.

I know this life is a journey.
I know my adventure will continue.
I know I will keep on Truth seeking,
I know I have to, for me and for you.


Wednesday, July 29, 2015

Love is Like a Weed [Poem]

LOVE IS LIKE A WEED [POEM]

In the Garden of emotions, 
Love is like a weed. 
When you see it, say:
“This, I don’t need”.

Now, kill it, swiftly,
before love grows and grows!
Or else you will be
under love's maddening throes. 

Ascetic logic will guard you
from cupid’s heart-arrow. 
A passion enjoyed today, 
is regretted in the morrow. 

The dances and songs of lovers!
These are just so many illusions. 
So happy alone I will always be,
that is my ultimate conclusion. 

Now, look at this one here, 
she is pretty, she seems nice. 
But does she have the power,
to ignite my heart of cold ice?

No, no! I shall chase no further
I will not get entangled once more
in Romance’s spider web,
for then freedom will be done for. 

Truly, truly: I have belief in God(s). 
I believe there are afterlives and souls.
But there is one thing I do not believe:
earthly love that can make me whole.  


Thursday, July 16, 2015

Advice from a Disciple on the Artists Path [Poem]

Of the arts, I practice most the art of the word,
either written like stories or spoken in theatre, 
or both, for in poetry the read/speak line is blurred. 
I am a humble disciple on the path of creativity. 

Let me tell you of some insights I have gathered. 
First: Never give up, and desire progress intensely, 
for no artist who was weak or lazy ever mattered. 
With that out of the way, let me speak of inspiration...

For mortals, inspiration is like a bug:
It creeps up when you least expect. 
It doesn’t come if you try to tug
or yell at it to do what you want. 

Inspiration is a great light divine
that flashes and thunders within. 
All Art is never yours or mine 
For it belongs to the gods alone. 

But artists need not live and toil,
under the whims of capricious powers. 
Ego is always the artists’ great foil, 
one free of it receives creativity's fire. 

Truly: The mind is like a bowl,
and a mind already full of itself,
and the consciousness of goal, 
cannot be full of the gods’ gifts. 

Self-Forgetfulness is the secret of the Master.
Therefore, cherish it and the things that cause it,
seeking them will help your art progress faster.
This is advice from a disciple of the artists’ path. 

The self is easily lost in experiences of great suffering or bliss, 
in boredom or novelty, talk or silence, love or loneliness, 
synchronicities or chaos, Nature, and Death. Got this?
And also: In experiences of invincible determination or in surrender. 

At last my final piece of advice:
Absorb the works of other artists, 
whatever your art, any will suffice. 
Learn and be nourished by them. 

For what goes into the mind, 
must also go out of the mind. 
So if art goes in, art comes out. 
And finally: To everyone, be kind. 

May this poem fulfill it’s good intention, 
and may it glorify the Supreme Creator,
we are just Little Creators seeking ascension. 
Cheerfulness and progress to all artists! Aum. 

Sunday, June 21, 2015

The Boy, The Man (Long Version) [Poem]

He grew up in a world of softness.
Every want was devotedly satisfied,
every pain urgently healed,
every vice swiftly forgiven.

He became an unnatural thing:
a little boy inside the body of a growing man.

He knew he had the best of all possible burdens.
And he was grateful,
though he was spiritually disfigured.

Within him grew a longing
to be purged of all that is soft!
He craved discipline and danger,
for how can one rise to greatness,
in a world of ease and fairness?

This tension cannot last much longer!

The Boy or The Man:
one of them
must
DIE!

He left home!
Even as it tearfully clung to him.
He went venturing into strange lands,
seeking foes and ordeals menacing enough
to make him strong.

He used to think:
all great frontiers have already been conquered,
so what use is there of tenacity and courage?
But in that strange land he discovered:
The great frontier is ever-new.

He entered the world of trials,
He had to deny wants.
He had to withstand pain,
he had to overcome vice.

He was becoming the man he would be proud to be.

He knew he had the best of all possible blessings.
And he was grateful.

























The Boy, The Man (Short Version) [Poem]

He grew up in a world of softness.

He became an unnatural thing:
a little boy inside the body of a growing man.

He knew he had the best of all possible burdens.
And he was grateful,
though he was spiritually disfigured.

Within him grew a longing
to be purged of all that is soft!

This tension cannot last much longer!

The Boy or The Man:
one of them
must
DIE!

He left home!
Seeking foes and ordeals menacing enough
to make him strong.

But
He thought:
"all great frontiers have already been conquered,
so what use is there of tenacity and courage?" 

But
in that strange land he discovered:
The great frontier is ever-new. 

He entered the world of trials.

He was becoming the man he would be proud to be.

He knew he had the best of all possible blessings,
And he was grateful.

Thursday, June 4, 2015

Human Becomings [Poem]

What is a human being?
Do you understand what goes on
between your ears, behind your eyes?

We are a cacophony of desirous voices,
each of them trying to shout above the others
to get itself fulfilled.
Have you ever taken the time to hear them?
Those myriad wantings,
each one calling itself "I"?

This one says:
"I want to express my vicious strength!!
Crush, Kill, Maim, Burn, Slice!
And is there anyone strong enough to return the favour?!"
In today's world one rarely listens to this violent "I".
It would be impolite. But sometimes he gets out of his cage.

This one says:
"My too-too tender heart is covered with scars,
each one deep, incurable, and horribly unjust"
says the I of melancholia.

This one says:
"I want to climb the highest peaks!
Where is the trial strenuous enough to purge me of my weakness?!
And who will lavish me with gold and glory when I am victorious?"
says that ambitious I.

This one says:
"Every inch of my skin desires to be touched!
Ah! This physical body was made for ecstasy.
More explosive pleasures! More, more!"
says the I of lust.

This one says:
"Oh, my heart is overflowing with sweetness!
Here, stranger! Here, friend!
Have some of this kindness and love.
There is enough for all!"
says the well-praised I of kindness.

This one says:
"Shiny toys, rare books, golden coins..
I hardly have enough space for it all!
Well then! I will just need more space!"
says the I of greed.

This one says:
"Everything in this world is a weight too heavy
for me to carry. Why should I even bother,
when this bed is so so comfy and warm?"
says the I of laziness.

This one says:
"This world! So much mystery!
I would need six eyes and three brains,
to learn everything I want to know!
Where is a great teacher who will fill my thirsty mind with knowledge?"
says that curious I.

What we call "self" is merely
the temporary compromise
between these innumerable longings.
"Self" is always subject to change,
and "Personality" is simply a set of habits.

You see,
The phrase "human being" is false.
We are not "human beings",
for the word "being" implies fixedness,
of which there is none in us!
The self is a turbulent river-
always changing relentlessly.

We are "human becomings"
for we are not the same person year by year
or day by day
or even from one moment to the next.

But there is more to us than this.
Deep within -
hidden by body, thoughts, emotions, and "I" ' s,
is the soul.

Just as space contains all,
but is itself unaffected by the thing it contains,
so too does the soul
contain your sensations, your past, your moods,
but is itself eternally unchanged by these things.

What you call your self is the weather,
and what is known as the Soul is the sky.
Aum.

If one could feel one's "I" to be located here,
in the soul,
then one could for the first time in their entire lives
be a human being
instead of a human becoming.
Aum.

Wednesday, June 3, 2015

Life is [Poem]

For the pure, life is blissful! 

For the child, life is a game. 

Life is a contest for the strong!

Life is an adventure for the brave! 

It is a performance for the theatric, 

and a mystery for the knowledgeable.

Life is a song for those who love. 

And for the wise,

Life is merely a dream. 

Aum. 



Wednesday, May 27, 2015

Observations on an Airplane [Poem]

As I listen to the the fierce roar of the plane engine,
I gaze out the window fortunately placed to my right. 

Sprawling cities transform into toy-like landscapes,
as the plane flies upwards and upwards. 

The opulent clouds I once reverently loved from below,
I now admire their fluffy, mountainous tops from above. 

It is no wonder that the ancients placed their paradises here,
in this mysterious realm between the clouds and the stars. 




Wednesday, May 13, 2015

Crossroads [Poem]

I am at crossroads.

To my right, 
a path that is safe and secure.
I can see the footprints of those who have walked on this sunny trail. 
The facts tell me it leads to success. 
This path is beautiful and inviting, like a national park. 
I can see friends and family
merely walking down it. 

To my left,
a path that is dark and dangerous.
The path is obstructed by twisted trees.
Though legends tell me it leads to either blissful destiny or utter catastrophe.
This path is beautiful but frightening, like a mountain.
Only the courageous and the audacious
dare embark on it.

Inevitably 
I will have to choose
Inevitably 
when I choose 
that choice has been made forever
Inevitably
when a choice is made
the effects of that choice will turn
into a new set of crossroads. 

Which way will my life go? 
Prudence & I have gone over it 
dozens and dozens and dozens
of times. 

Prudence says, 
"Those who have gone to the right -
their lives are easy, safe, and bright.

Dangerous things may transpire,
down the left road. It could be dire.
Cutthroats, thieves, brutes, and liars!

Life is dangerous and short. Always be cautious.
Why anyone would risk, it makes me nauseous!

Listen to reason, and choose the well-trodden-
perhaps later in life, your horizons can broaden"

Oh, Prudence!
You know that always have I obeyed your voice.
But...
what is that I detect in your words, Prudence?
Do I hear cowardice lurking behind your caution?

Gah! Oh, how I am weary of Prudence!

What do you tell me, Passion? 

“Youth need experience
as Flowers need the sun:
To grow! Embrace the new, 
or growing can't be done.

How can one be a Mythic Hero,
without venturing into the land of trials?
No Enlightenment is had,
for one who dwells in risk-less isles. 

The longings in your heart of hearts,
were planted there by God's hand,
to lure souls to their fated quests.
Fulfilling them is divine command!"

Passion's words
are the sparks that light up my fiery soul!
I know what I must do now!
Today, 
I heed Passion’s wisdom!

Sunday, May 10, 2015

Conversation with your Soul [Poem]

I want to have a conversation with your soul. 
I have to have a conversation with your soul 
so I can love you. 
You can’t love what you don’t know. 
Reveal some of your inner self to me. 
But not all at once - 
that would be imprudent. 
A soul is too vast a thing 
for anyone to behold 
all at once. 
But please 
just give me a glimpse.
Then 
I will reciprocate 
and the more we show of our inner selves 
the more we can be loved. 



You hesitate.
I understand. 
To reveal yourself to someone you first have to know yourself. 
We are, all of us, abysses - 
dark, enigmatic, with terrible depth. 
It is silly 
and frightening 
that we can spend all day with ourselves 
but not know who it is that 
gazes out of our eyes, 
speaks out of this mouth. 
touches with these hands. 
But please 
dive into that inner ocean 
and shine the light of introspection upon it. 

No one can do it but you.

Friday, May 1, 2015

Adventuring Partners [Short Story]

There are invisible guards inside of everyones mouths who dutifully ensure that the words we say are appropriate. But if you stay up past midnight these guards start to get a little lazy, and that gives an opportunity for our real feelings and thoughts to slip out. This is why the most meaningful conversations happen at around 3:00am.

Evan was laying in Stella's bed, under her blankets. She was changing into her pyjamas in the bathroom. Evan could still taste the liquorice tea with honey in it that Stella had made him earlier, and he mindfully abided on that sweet sensation in order to get as much enjoyment out of it as possible. He had gone on earlier about how honey and liquorice tea together were the best combination of flavours conceivable. But, of course, that's exactly the kind of thing that he would say since he has a strong penchant for sweet things.

When the sensation of the honey-liquorice tea passed Evan's thoughts went to the person who generously made him the tea. His nostrils caught the subtle leftovers of her scent on the bedsheets and he smiled. It made him think of how pure hearted she was. He likened her in his imagination to an angel.

Evan excitedly awaited Stella's return. When she came out in her polk-a-dotted pyjamas she made a childlike noise that sounded like "meep" or "mawh", as she often did. She slipped underneath the blankets and curled up against Evan, placing her head on his chest. Evan wrapped his arms around her.

Stella, who was almost twenty, had never laid in another bed with a guy before meeting Evan. She loved to cuddle, and her favourite person to cuddle used to be her older sister. But Evan had changed that. As she laid there she was thinking about how much she trusted Evan. This thought filled her with delight, so she hugged Evan as tightly as she could. As soon as she stopped Evan immediately repeated the hug.

They laid there for almost an hour, as content as lazing puppies.  Evans hands gently went up and down her hips. He was happily surprised at how deep the curve of her hips were. Stella relished in the caress of his hands. Her fingers were soothingly playing with his hair. They were not talking, but their senses of touch were engaged in a silent conversation. 

Evan moved his head and looked into Stella's eyes. Her face was lit up with attraction.  She was strikingly beautiful, but to him she was also very mysterious. He wanted to have a conversation with her soul, which he felt he didn't know nearly as well enough as he wanted to. Evan thought about how one cannot truly love what one does not know, so the more we let other people know about us the more we are allowing them to love us.

Evan wished he could lay his soul bare for her, but he knew that would be unwise. The soul is too vast a thing for anyone to behold all at once, even oneself. Instead, Evan thought, we must give glimpses into our unlit, arcane depths to those we are compelled to to love and know.

Stella had a curious look on her face, because she knew that he was about to say something, but he was taking a while to say it. The reason, of course, is that Evan realized that in order to get her to reveal some of her soul to him he would have to begin, and that would make Stella reciprocate.

It is true that one can only love someone as much as they have revealed themselves to you. The more we show of our true selves to someone the more that self can be loved. However, in order to reveal yourself to someone you first have to know yourself. We are all abysses - dark, enigmatic, with great depth. And we are enigmatic first of all to ourselves. Somehow we can spend all day with ourselves and yet never really know who it is that sees out of the eyes we gaze out of. When we dive into our inner oceans and shed the light of introspection upon that abyss within we never know what we might pull out.

Evan had dived many, many times. Sometimes when he dived he was terrified by the monsters that dwelt within the shadows of the soul. Other times he was amazed by the pearls and treasures that lay hidden deep within.  He had collected every insight he had about himself and mentally recorded them. For him it was not an issue of knowing nothing about himself, it was an issue of which page from his mental records to share. There were things in those records, after all, that were terribly embarrassing. Some of them were shameful. He was cautiously looking for a page that would let Stella know more about him and entice her to share more about herself as well, but that wouldn't lower what he imagined to be her opinion of him.

"What are you thinking about?"
Stella abruptly asked, interrupting Evan's thought process, which was all for the better because he would never really have come to a conclusion about what to say unless he was put on the spot.
"I was just thinking....I've always had a great yearning to travel and see the world. I want to visit every continent. Every single one. Even Antarctica. Whenever I say that people are always like, 'Oh? Do you want to visit Antarctica too?' and I'm like, Yes goddammit I also want to see Antarctica. I am fully aware that I said  'I want to visit every continent', and that Antarctica is one of them. But of the seven I want to go to Europe the most".

Stella piqued up,
"I visited France once".

Evan's face lit up.
"Oh my god! That's amazing!"

"I was in the south of France, and I was staying with a home stay family. I visited this forest that was so magical, like it came right out of a story book. I was in a cave once, too, and I was reading in there for a little bit. It was so much fun to just wander around the town I was in, just by myself. I felt so free and independent..." she longingly sighed, wishing she could go back.

With every word she said about it she got more and more excited. This is precisely the kind of thing he wanted to know about Stella. Within the both of them there dwelt an adventurous soul that longed to see the world. She could see that he was paying attention to her. That was one of the things she liked about him, he was a great listener.

"I have some pictures of France. Would you like to see them?”

Evan almost leapt out of the bed.
"I'd love to!"

The two of them untwined and got out of the bed. Stella sat on the chair in front of her desk and opened up her laptop. Evan wrapped his arms around her as he stood behind the chair, unable to keep his hands off of her. Stella clicked on a picture that was tucked away in a folder on her computer. 
"Is that the magical forest you were in?" Evan asked.
"Yup!"
Of course it must be, Evan thought. On the desktop was a picture of a complex web of gnarled trees with dark-green leaves. 
Stella opened another one, “This is the town I was in.”

Evan’s jaw dropped. It was a photo of a quaint medieval village. The picture was so enticing to the adventurous spirit that it looked as though it belonged in a travel magazine, but it was even more enticing since it was a real photograph taken of a real town with nothing staged. 


“You’ll get to travel one day” Stella said to Evan in a tone of optimistic certainty that filled him with hope. This hope revitalized his fantasies so that they became more alive. He held her tight and kissed the top of her head from behind the chair. She smiled and tilted her head up, and they shared a kiss on each others lips. They both felt elated and grateful for each other, each of them unable to understand how they could be so lucky.

“I want to see the world with you. You would be the best adventuring partner ever” said Evan, his head so far up in the clouds that he was bringing Stella up there with him.
“Ditto”