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I am beginning to write aloud again - to and for your kind eyes and to the souls who wish to listen.

Showering at one moment summoned it as equally as the push to pursue my old ways of sensing; where external and internal life become one in spirit. Soulful, as the drift of caressing the urge of pouring my heart out, I became.
(...and so a delirious interface bloomed.)

A work of nothing; of something to derive.

And frankly, I will begin a sentence with "and" or perhaps create the conscious effort of vagueness in order to deliver a interpret-worthy hearing.  

No need to knock. Door's open.

Subconscious preface:

I may not have enough years or fame or success on me to prove my wisdom to some, and that does not and will not prevent me from progressing, as it shouldn't. The fuel does not come from the negative reassurance, nor the dying need to prove anybody otherwise, nor an intention to. My fuel and drive grows through my attraction to opportunity; deeply root yourself into something and you will see nowhe

re but the pain of getting out. I just want to voice that everyone is capable of being AUDACIOUS. I'd like to see more of it around here. Be limitless, be free, be exactly where you want to see. Go, go, go! Whatever is around, it can't hold us. I salute you and stand behind supporting your goals I call life projects. Explode with passion when you find it. Be greater, challenge yourself. Sail with the wind and dive into your potentials. Success lies within as self-worth and fulfillment are within arms-reach. Only, of course, if you want them to be

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"Blow away the cowbells."

...and when I came home, everything was so foreign to me.

"Home is where the heart is," they say.

Why base your childhood experiences and the days you spent your time kicking sand at the local beach, your home?

"Home."

It's a silly thing.

It never stuck; this describes the mystery behind no granted attachment.

Your passion blows up the sky.

I want some of that. I would like to fuel my tank and drive toward the epiphanies where heart meets mind; a spiritual thing.

Everything seemed so abase out of my mind and into the air, like a sheer canvas hovering out of this head of mine, through the eyes of the life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness; young, wild and free. 

Refreshing, it is, going somewhere you've gone for so long, taking a break from the connection and renewing it - yet feeling absolutely awake, unequivocally contrastive, as if nothing, no one, not a jar of Oxygen has reached the lined correlation of thought: it is all in your head.

The mind, being a powerful gift, can and will be robotic. That's another tale for yet another toasty campfire.

I was watching Late Night Show with Helen Hunts with subtitles. Now, it's one thing to read them and connect the visual movement, but it is artistic and magical listening to the body language - yes, listening to a visual. You see, you can listen in the way which your mind processes an understanding of projection. Listening is not limited to the ears, but to the soul, as there are many ways of learning: kinesthetically, visually, auditory, you see?

I would like to begin not watching, but noticing more people and hearing them through movement. Body language is like a projection scanner; you might speak otherwise, but the body doesn't lie unless it is controlled. Even then, it is noticed. Interesting, is it not? To choose to infuse the roll of tongue with the body would be clarity and truth, natural, emotional reaction, stability, etc. It's all in the movement. Words will be words.

My eyes, my soul, if you will, traveled up the inches of inanimate objects as the epiphanies would flow like blood through my nutshell. These inanimate objects were not only lifeless, but parts of my life. I mean, my life has become still, insentient. The toll may be temporarily delusive however the itch to progress is ongoing. One cannot be better now than later until later becomes now. The idea of the future lys inside that Oxygen sucking robot with bewildering ideas of expectation. I enjoy this life I have, though one of the epiphanies gave me a face-palm-moment: no limits. 

I have always said or thought the idea, but to connect it - to truly see it and right through it at that, why limit thyself? Why end here? Why settle when you feel capability and if not feel it, know the feeling is growing in your dreams?

I want toys, a nice car, a motivation and execution of my ideal healthy body and system, a straightened smile, a trip I earned, (ah yes, I am fortunately aware of the materialism after a read-through and have no intend on backspacing the former moments I allowed my fingers to click at the power of word vomit; let it be super pure) the patience and humbleness, the positive discipline, the beauty of clothing, the means to spread love and wellness, the sorrow to feel a balance of emotions, the light to see intuitively and the shadows to frighten me for better. I want to use the motivation I am finding in places of stress, anger, thoughtfulness, pessimism, humility, laziness, inspiration and so much more to evoke, alter and explode into a progression, a movement as I swiftly take the next step. 

Where am I going, what do I want to do, what will I get out of this - typical and acknowledgeable and worthy questions of asking thyself. 

I feel as if, at times, I am level headed as equally as impulsive. They go hand in hand on occasion. Other moments, I offer each tribute to the wrong party of decision. Or so I think. In conclusion, better decisions are in for a roll. 

Working out, perseverance

meditation, discipline and listening

writing, intuitive and reflecting

healthy eating, clarity

as it continues to affix into feasibility and nourishment.

Let's go to Malibu. Let's book it in a convertible.

Let's..

Let's...

Let's….

Let's…..

Let us……

us

us

us

let us

If I haven't drown your soul with divinity just yet, take a bite of bliss:

"Taste your words before you spit them out."

"You are invited to inspire before you expire. Do you accept the invitation?"

(via Buddhist Bootcamp)

With an additional fix for your Shakespearian itch:

“Doubt thou the stars are fire;

Doubt that the sun doth move;

Doubt truth to be a liar;

But never doubt I love.”

(Hamlet)