In airy heights I spun a dream, then fell and fell and fell;
something, though, had me climbing up again, a call that never died,
to find that one dream you fight for is worth forty handed you.

I am small, held in a single thought, and I am never one thing or another, but constantly becoming.

I breathe in during the day, and I exhale it all at night, wondering if the dreams to come also come and go like the tide.

I have drunk of moonlight, when the pale glow poured into silent ponds, rendering stillness to the waters.

I am huge, of greater matter than the most enormous star, but in the darkness, how like nothing I am.

I leap in my dreams across the airy heights, and I walk upon the feathertop clouds — but even in my dreaming I return to earth.

I have stumbled and fallen, fallen, but I heed not gravity’s advice, and still I reach up toward infinity.

I am a cry, a whisper, a teardrop fallen into dust, and however much I change, this soul of mine keeps in the tune of “me”.

Somewhere in my dreaming I have desired terrible things. Now, I have heard of stories where people have spoken to dream inhabitants, who spoke back saying that they, too, were real: makes you wonder if there is some astral place where one goes in one’s dreams. For I have committed crimes there I never would have thought to while here in this too too solid flesh. And I think I have done very little in the way of saintliness there, if I come to think of it. Will it then be that at the end of time, I shall be judged by what I have done in my slumbering hours, too? Perhaps that is a fruitless musing. It is just that I know not why we are so different there, and I cannot say which of the dream or waking is the truer me — just as in a dream I cannot tell if I am real, or if I am being dreamt myself.

How it is that the wonders of the world have become ordinary. But has this not always been so?

Rendering

How can we say
that we are closer to infinity
than a garden slug?
That we understand destiny
any better than an ant?
O proud mankind,
God has set you above
all the other animals, but
did you not know
we are only as noble as we act,
that since we alone
have eaten of the Tree
of the Knowledge of Good and Evil,
we alone can choose
depravity? Not even
the parasitic worms are evil,
after all, for their lot
was nothing that they decided.
We who are made
in the image of love itself,
in the image of the eternal,
think not that our
noble births will save us
from ourselves.
Know thyself, if you dare.
Our freedom is a dangerous
blessing — in every
moment, a calling
we choose to hear or deny,
life and death
we render upon the world.

Not a word was spoke between us, there was little risk involved
Everything up to that point had been left unresolved.
Try imagining a place where it’s always safe and warm.
“Come in,” she said,
“I’ll give you shelter from the storm.”

– Bob Dylan

A. G. Rizzoli: Little Milady Leadda

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I have imagined that I have seen far, once or twice, that I peered beyond the veil that holds the stars in place. It was most probably illusion, I am of tendency to judge, for these things I have thought seemed the stuff of angels. Perhaps, too, I am inclined to dismiss them in that if such sublime reflections were of substance true, how on my shoulders would there be weights of grand responsibility. But I remember how I have sat, flying high on no drug but a vision of some mathematical automata, how I have felt a nausea of fear in what I could possibly create — not because of anything wrong, but that these ideations so boldly ventured into territories so unknown. Perhaps, in the end, they will come to nothing, but even to have been there, experiencing such desperate hope that revolution was in my breath: I die having truly lived.

Any good man has many dreams he hopes never come true.

When is it passion, and when is it obsession? For visionaries there have been of both types that would not heed the detractors, who pressed forward despite all harshest criticisms. Is it merely to say that those which have succeeded in bringing their vision into the light of day — do we say that if and only if this is the case, the seer is justified? What of the passion that fails, the truly earnest drives that never get exactly where they want to go, never fashion into righteous form the stuff of their imaginings? And the other side, of the obsessions, the madnesses that become wrought into reality, and succeed despite how truly wrong they are? For this world, I think, has discarded many treasures, and reveled in much that is swill…. Perhaps it is only when the heart of the dreamer one peers into do we get the answer to our question: passion is when you are true to the dream that is true to you, and obsession instead cares nothing for the truth. But the lines are blurry, and truth has often been a mystery. One may find, however, that both justify themselves, and need no reason to be — beware. To be caught is like the rushing of the wind up to precipitous heights, and the only way down may be a great, great fall.

He is no fool who gives what he cannot keep to gain what he cannot lose.

I could be reduced to a random gesture of this world,
a stray thought of the cosmos as it dreaming observes itself…
but none can ever take away from me this moment I seize.

I have decided that I will not worry anymore. I have decided to be like “...the birds of the air; they neither sow nor reap nor gather into barns, and yet your heavenly Father feeds them.” [Matthew 6:26 NRSV] I have decided I will not “...worry about tomorrow, for tomorrow will bring worries of its own,” that “today’s trouble is enough for today.” [Matthew 6:34 NRSV] For I have fretted in the past, as when I was unemployed or some strife was hounding me — but every time, something came up, something happened, and I was taken care of. And then each new time something else befell me, I would worry again: o me of little faith. But no more of that, I think. My Lord watches over me, though I little think of it, and I realize finally that I will always be rescued. No — it is not to be frivolous with such a gift, not irresponsible — but to keep in faith, to keep in good cheer. My Lord hears even the smallest sparrow fall. And I am worth many sparrows. [See Matthew 10:29–31.]

Charity is like saving up for the afterlife.

A. G. Rizzoli: The Sayanpeau

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Do unto others… you know the rest — or do you, really?

Prepare for the miracle, and it will still take you by surprise.

If you forgot to love, you missed the whole point.

Dream of Heaven, but live here and now.

Imagine God loves you the best; now, imagine that for everyone.

There is no place you need to go to find yourself.

A simple dream fulfilled is better than the grandest one unsatisfied.

I imagine that there are things that time will never reveal. That there be things that are truly forgotten by all reckonings, that there be secrets never shared, and no one will dig them from the graves in which they lie. In the grand scheme of things, I believe that there will be to know a forgetting of things, just like there will be a remembering, and just as meaningful — when you can put things behind you and think of them no more. We do not need to fret over every little happenstance that ever flutters through us. We need not shine light on all the darkness that ever was. Some darkness, we will let it lie, and move on.

I laughed at death, until I realized death wasn’t laughing with me.