Ego

You are not your ego.  You are not what you touch, what you grab, what you do, or what you think.  You are not the addict.  You are not the alcoholic.  You are not anything that your body has become and desires.  Just before your fingers get the sensations of touch, that is you.  Just before you become aware of that thought, that word entering into your focus,  that is you. Just before you do anything, that is you.

We focus on the sensations of the objects, and not what comes just before.  Yes, the objects you pick and act for are  reflections of your experiences and conditioning, but is not you.  From a pile of objects, you pick the object that has your favourite colour, favourite design, favourite use, favourite value, or your most desired object, but that is not you, just what your experiences and conditioning created.

Can you focus on you and not on the objects of your sensations?  Do you see the sun, or just the clouds that are blocking out the sun?  Do you see the dust on a gravel road, or the car that the dust are blocking out from view? 

Can you focus on  just before you get a thought?  Before you become aware of an idea, a word?  Can you focus on  just before your fingers get that sensation of touch?  Without the dust, without the clouds filtering and blocking out your view, you are there.  Powerfully, independently, peacefully shining.

— The Strokes, Someday (via music-and-quotes)

via weheartit

i know that calling someone beautiful can be so damn overrated. hasn’t it been said so many times over? in so many stories. in too many movies. she’s beautiful. he’s beautiful. my eyes don’t know how to lie to you, so if you ever catch me crying just know that there’s just some sad shit that i wouldn’t say just to interrupt this happy moment we’ve been sharing. you’re my run on of a run on. you’re my poem within a poem. my last laugh. my returning smile. the warm spot afterglow, love won’t feel the same after you. i’ll make things right again, i’ll drive my heart straight into your chest and leave my love letters under your fingertips and trace my apologies into your skin with my tears coming out your eyes— it’s been quite some time for us, hasn’t it? you’re feet too tired and your hands too soft, we’ve been chasing dreams for far too long. a poet that writes about love to an artist that wants to know love. draw our existence out of my blood and i’ll use your eyes as my favorite mirror. your reflection looks attached when i’m around, how did you do it? how’d you make me fall in love with you? or was it an us thing? a mutual thing? a together thing? you know my thoughts well enough, you’ve read my words a thousand different ways and every time you will have sworn that i’m still changing and growing and there’s still so much more to learn. what makes us cling onto people? are the creatively endowed all messed up? sometimes you feel like a question that i have to ask, so i’ve been meaning to find the answers within your tone of voice right before bed when it’s all goodnight kisses and see you in dreamland text messages sent late enough to kiss the moon into deep sleep, i’ve been wondering if love smiles everytime we lock onto each other. i know that we’re still learning about what not to say and what to always say to one another. i know that you’re still worried if my heart will sway again. if i’ll kiss someone else again. if i’ll hurt you again. i think that’s the only reason that we’ve made it this far. because no matter how bad things get, i’ll always tell you in the end. someone told me two days ago that he didn’t want to waste his life doing something that he didn’t love because tomorrow he might not be here to enjoy his mistakes, so why not let it be something worthwhile? i don’t believe in perfection, but you’re probably the closest thing to it. so when it rains and i’m reminded of you, i know that it’s only natural to wait things out. because how can we truly appreciate something if it’s always handed to us? i know that we both can be insecure from time to time, but we’re aware of it and it helps. you’re smile is full of hope and you’ve been rubbing off on me. my heart is heavy most days, but when it’s light— i want to photograph the sun for a whole week straight and point to the all white polaroid and tell you that even if you can’t see it, it’s there. you make my spirit bright eyed and awake. i want to be alive for this. don’t kiss me where it hurts, love me where i’m most alive. leave your lips right next to mine and stay.

by Robert Montgomery

via weheartit

When Søren Kierkegaard said, “My soul has lost its potentiality.”

Sketchbook VIII, 2013 Ink on paper

Reblog to have something good happen at 1:42 tomorrow