
It seems as if the core of the human condition is a tension between what man chooses to act as and what he truly is. What would his life be like, if he wasn’t in defiance of himself?

Is life ever unjust or are all the things we perceive as injustice and broken luck simply life deviating from expectations we placed?

Words avoided me this week. Was I supposed to chase them? Or is this space fuller than a thousand written words?

If all seeing is framed, can we ever be aware of anything more than a small fragment of who we are?

How do you know that the words you speak are yours if you were only taught to repeat the ones others said?

Be less confident in what you know. Claim not to possess knowledge, but the ability to learn. What if that is where the real security lies?

Our deepest agony is not pain, but the terror of letting things transform.

Everything teaches, and everything guides. Ours is just to open and soften the eyes.

What if the world awaits not for your initiation, but acceptance of the invitation?