ON THE WRECKS OF UNMOTULATED ANXIETY

Wanting to forget his nightmares and shadows, from waking up disillusioned, a person is constantly left alone, if only there is no one by his side. The tinsel-liar Life wakes up to be seen, as if it wants to bring the living back to itself in the tempera color of dissolved rainbows, while it can. It is as if, on the horizon of conscious awakening, which has begun to solidify, he is already able to project the One-Essence into his mind, before his soul's eyes, so crystal clear that it creeps almost viscerally into the funnel of cells and molecules.

Because the harmony with the Infinite, the restless longing for a home-shelter, which can only rarely be possessed by anyone in his life, still resides hidden in man. Like most people who once lived, the dying person also tries to cling to his orphaned mortality, just like a child-man who grew up and later became a child. In instincts and brains, halfway through, the sure realization is still rampant: the truer, more honest consolation of "I need you" is that there will always be Someone who will knock on doors, iron bars, windows and listen to the symphonies of rejected loneliness.

It's as if a person already feels with the pores of his body, which is secretly enclosed in his skin, how creativity reveals itself daily, the incessant desire for more after creation, the mere awareness that you have to create, create, create in order to complete and then put yourself together; in so many aborted wills and deliberately thwarted career opportunities, he tries to rise above himself every day while preserving his perhaps unrealized dreams!