So viel passiert.

Keine Worte für die Menge an Eindrücken.

Nur ein Gefühl.

Dankbarkeit.

Für die Menschen.

Die Emotionen.

Die Möglichkeiten.

Mein Sein.

Keine Bewertung.

Keine Erwartung.

Reines Erleben.

Ohne Täler, keine Höhen.

Keine Höhen, ohne Täler.

Monotonie wäre Alltag.

Stattdessen bunte Musik.

Mal laut, mal leise.

Mal hoch, mal tief.

Ein Mix aus Schwingungen.

Mal ein Remix aus Erinnerungen.

Dankbarkeit für den Verlust.

Für den Schmerz.

Für den Frust.

Und das Herz.

Ohne diese Musik, kein Tanz.

Traurig.

Anstrengend.

Frustrierend.

Momente des Lichts.

Phasen der Geduld.

Dauerhafte Anspannung.

Reifeprozesse.

Wie die Bohnen in der Sonne trockend.

Oder der Hormoncocktail eines Heranwachsenden.

Entspannte Entwicklung entbunden von Zeit.

Oder katalytisch, kathartisch und chaotisch.

"Good things take time"

They say.

"Fuck you then"

The ego says.

Zweimal Egotod.

Kein Mal richtig losgelassen.

Zweimal am Boden zerstört.

Viermal wieder aufgestanden.

Ist das Erwachsenwerden?

But why tho?

Giving them a sign of dignity, a sign of appreciation, a signal of love.

Why is it so hard to be vulnerable and strong at the same time?

Why is there this need to portrait the mask of power eventhough, there are moments and sometimes month of powerlessness?

Why is it so hard und undervalued to show weaknesses?

Why are we so afraid to be truthful?

First of all with ourselves, secondly with those we love, third with everyone else?

Nothing to hide, because we all share the same experience that‘s called life.

With tragedies, broken dreams and the losing of loved ones.

With the need for approval, connection and love.

With feelings of impatience, guilt and anger.

With dark sides and brighter ones.

Without that, everything would be grey.

Without dark places, we couldn’t appreciate the light.

Without battles, we wouldn‘t relish peace.

Not a symphony for war outside but waging the war within, to create peace from the inside out.

Not hiding from our demons but welcoming them in.

Making friends with what afraid you before.

The only path to liberation might be to let go of the illusion that we need to be liberated from anything.

When there is nothing to hold on to, you don’t need to let go and if you don’t need to let go, you cannot hold onto…

Maybe not being free, is a trick of our minds trying to grasp the experience of life.

While it is ever expanding, like the universe, our minds try to look for the stars as a fix point, while knowing that what we are looking at does not exist, because it died a long time ago.

Ever expanding, so are we.

If we decide to let go, of what we believe, that we need to hold onto something.

Just to realize, that we were meant to fly, while we tried the whole time to stay close to the ground.

The whole time we were afraid to look around and realize our wings.

That what life has equipped us with, would always support us, if we allowed ourselves to trust…

…stretch those wings, and fly.

You don’t work on the work.

Outside tasks will always change.

What will remain the same is the path forward.

Observing inner growth is the only path forward.

Growing internally means to observe the world from the inside out and maintaining that seat on the inside.

Outside distractions are opportunities to practice keeping that centered position.

Never allow external circumstances to pull you away from the ever present inner harmony.

Keep observing the flow between the internal energies with the external ones.

Everything else will distract from the one and only thing that is true: Awareness.

Stay centered.

But trying to control the outcome of the present.

It’s the inability to deal with feelings that unexpected circumstances might evoke.

The combination of losing awareness and expecting unwanted feelings.

We can release this aggression by becoming aware of the immediate moment and it’s fundamental changing nature.

Realising the transformative energy of every moment gives power towards the present rather than the past or the future.

we have to get it (right).

No time to look around,

we have to move on.

But why we move,

if we cannot stop?

Why we hurry,

if we cannot enjoy?

Where do we need to be all the time,

when we never arrive?

Its the journey, love the process, you are never done...

What than is fulfilment, when fulfilment never comes?

Most of the stresses only come from time.

Not allowing myself to stop.

To wander and ponder about my direction, my place, my emotions.

Always on the run, means always on the hunt.

Never time to rest and digest.

Never time to let the dust settle.

Expectations of others, turning them towards oneself.

Responsibilities cry out for attention.

But being attentive to oneself, there is no time.

Time. Time. Time.

It takes the time, they say, whoever they are.

But the must they know, because they are they.

.

Life's forces must not be turned against oneself.

Being a force of life won't come out of self-aggression.

Hatred against the way one feels, is one of the most powerful weapons people use against each other.

Blame and shame.

Not seeking to understand, but seeking to be egotistical, narcissistic and sometimes evil-spirited.

Whatever it means, it only does harm.

.

Why do we need to grow up?

What's the point when everyone only wants to be loved and love.

We go around in circles through backdoors and valleys just to find out, that in the end there is nothing to find.

We already carried it with us the whole time.

But we fight battles, try to win, go into politics and earn money just for the simple fact to not feel so alone, not feel worthless.

Why then are we running around like ants, organising our lives around some shiny objects, just to in the end die without ever fully realising anything.

The only ending to this reality is not living.

But how can something be something that is nothing?

.

Fear, doubt, insecurity, shame and grandiosity destroy and nourish at the same time. It creates room through the means of an inner war.

Nothing of that is real in the sense of being able to touch it. But its perception is the closest thing we encounter in regards to the brutal forces, which cloud our minds and darken our hearts.

Light, inner peace, calm, tranquility.

A life of joy and serenity.

The antidote to the war inside.

To be found in the exact same place that holds the battleground.

Somewhat of a contradiction...

.

Is what has been described as the dark side, the soil on the fertile ground of peace?

Is the inner peace the land, the sky, the sun, the atmosphere in which weeds grow, to train our attention and develop our care for the land which we call our inner world?

Is it called upon us to cultivate our skills of farming and harvesting peace and to build our land as we wish.

Lies therein our responsibility to observe and to learn to navigate the never ending cycles of birth and death of the flowers and fruits that we chose to care for?

Some will let the weeds grow all over the place.

Maybe out of curiosity, because they favour weeds over flowers or just out of sheer disengagement with life.

Letting it all happen, not out of a buddhist monks' spirit, but out of not accepting that it will be a constant effort to deal with pain, discomfort, uncertainty and change.

That the weeds will come back some place else.

That they are called upon to rise to the occasion, constantly.

That they need to be aware.

its the service that I have done.

The things that I gave away.

The stories I shared.

The lifes I inspired.

The things that outlive me.

Not for egotistical reasons.

But for the greater good.

If there is one battle that I have yet to overcome,

its the ego inside me that strives for significance.

For that what has my name written on it.

It's a path chased by many.

The path of fame and perceived glory.

Which is in the end a mere psychological inability to think beyond ones own immediate circumstances.

The greater good that I will never see-through or can imagine.

One might read a line of poetry, never known from whom it's written, but this will alter his reality to see a brighter future.

In the end what is left, is the relationship you had with yourself, with other people and what you made during your time of being alive.

Making art, making friends, making a leap,

planting trees, digging holes, turning stones,

being kind, being bold, being proud,

with what you made but kept making.

Creating because creation in itself is the source of all beginnings, all possibilities, all ambiguities.

Do. Make. Create. More.

Tomorrow is certain, but not promised.

It's our answer to misery.

Or the attempt to survive death.

An invitation to dream as to become present.

An ode to life as to what's already dead.

The symbiosis of chaos and order.

While beauty expresses the longing for awe,

it helps the soul to find a ground to linger.

Most time of day is spend in mind or moving the body through space.

From bed to kitchen table to car to desk to lunch table to desk to car to kitchen table to sofa to bed.

Mind always wandering in between these spaces

Time travelling.

From the bed to our past relationships or trying to structure the work left undone on ones desk.

From the kitchen table to the last romantic night out or the business meeting ahead.

Going back and forth, never resting, never enough.

Beauty the only thing that saves us from this emotional roller-coaster of trying to figure out, fix, solve or being overwhelmed.

Being then overwhelmed by beauty is different.

A sensible sensation of transcendence.

Sometimes way too much.

Sometimes quiet.

Sometimes quite unreasonable.

Sometimes as litte as possible.

A beautiful mess.

We are.

Life is.

Trauer und Schmerz für alle,

die Nachkommen.

Ein wenig Trost,

die Erinnerungen an gute Zeiten.

An lebsame Gemeinsamkeiten.

An Austausch, Lachen und Freud.

Ein Weg der zu Ende geht.

All seine Farben nun getrocknet auf Leinwand.

Ein Gemälde des Lebens,

für immer an der Wand,

des Gedächtnisses der Hinterbliebenen.

Wir haben so viele Worte für die Zeit danach.

Nichts jedoch auszudrücken vermag,

den wahren Schmerz des Verlusts.

Liebe so süß sie auch schmeckt im Reich der Lebenden,

so trügerisch verrät sie die Verbliebenen.

Liebe stets begleitet von einem Schleier.

Ein dunkles Gewand,

das sich legt aufs Gemüt,

Wenn man in Gewissheit des Ende sich bemüht,

trotzdem weiter zu leben.

Denn am Ende gehen wir jeden Tag ein bisschen näher in das Grab.

Was schließlich zählt ist,

was wir taten,

die Menschen denen wir unsere Hilfe und Liebe gaben,

und in Momenten des Schleiers nicht verzagten.

You cannot touch it.

Cannot see it.

Yet it's everything.

Try to speak it.

Yet it does not resembles the feeling.

Try to draw it.

Yet it does come close to the experience.

Try to grab it.

Yet it is always a fleeting moment away from you.

Love is

the painters brush,

the writers pen,

the lovers gaze.

Love is

more than heart.

Love is

body, mind and soul.

Love is

the memories that arise

while reading these lines.

Everywhere, yet nowhere.

Everything, yet nothing.

Marvellous.

Mystery.

you will take care of you needs last.

If you haven’t accepted your self,

you will long for acceptance from others.

If you do not love your self,

you will go out in the world and look for love in people, places, things and activities.

The worst form of pushing you self away is addiction.

I have been addicted to many things.

Approval, work, sports, ambition.

Just symptoms for an inability to feel my self.

Being in touch with me.

Self-awareness.

Outside only reflects inside, was my biggest insight, when my self-worth got in sight.

Focus on your self, rather than yourself.

The I not the ego.

Because the ego seeks always to go outside.

Latin “e”

english “go”

Let it go, so you (read I) can come around.