Ouroboros (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

Ten years ago, I had the same dreams, the same hopes, I was longing for the same inner experiences, the same places. Just like now, I only had my writing pen, but with it, I would paint worlds in whose cradles I would rest, until I would be close enough to touch those worlds with the tips of my fingers, to sink and disintegrate in them, fill myself with their essence and find my freedom.

The period that followed was somehow ironic, I fought for what I wanted more than ever, with unbelievable zest and stubbornness and at the same time, I gave up what I wanted the most, more than ever.

I gave up by escaping, by lying to myself, I gave up because everything seemed a grueling and meaningless, futile battle, I gave up by disparaging and riddance.  I made it, I detached myself. I gave up one suffering for much greater ones, but I wouldn’t have known until they showed up in my path.

Now I realize that all these years have been but a great detour, a circle in whose starting point I will soon reach again, and then I will be addressed the same question: Are you willing to fight until the end, to burn all ships and bravely step forward without looking back?


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