"The good life is a process, not a state of being. It is a direction not a destination."

Wanting. Isn't life always wanting? But maybe the wanting is wise, always hurtling us towards a vision of ourselves that we could never hope to fathom. The wanting will always be there, urging us as we stumble towards the only happiness there ever is: the unexpected, the serendipitous, the accidental. Wanting hurts, but it's a growing pain and without it we would cease. As for my wants...I want vibrancy, tenderness, ache. I want my heart to brim with wonder, my eyes and fingers grateful for everything they touch. I want simple contentedness, like a dear song or a delicious book or a real laugh, as much as possible. I want to love and not worry or try too hard. I want to be able to hear my heart always, to stay in the beautiful present and never be scared; to be filled with the effortless music of the cosmos, its peace and chaos and energy and hope. I want to trust and never forget to trust, ever, because there is a golden light that never leaves us. I want to be an empty shell all replete with thou, someone whose actions are graceful and sure. I want to consecrate and celebrate, to dance and feel life, to be where I’m supposed to be and know it. I think I’m cluttering this longing with words that mean nothing, but my words are how I struggle to make sense, to build myself and my world, to feel real. I want to learn to write better, to translate and transcribe the poetry I experience every day, to make every fiber of your being sing with my joy and poignancy. Sometimes I’m stranded and can’t feel or express anything. Sometimes I feel dull, insignificant, inferior and isolated. Sometimes I betray myself and I don’t know what to do with the fear. Helplessness slays me, turns my soul into a cold, heavy, static thing that refuses to move, to live, to hope or grasp or try. I get tired and all I see is darkness and hardship and never-ending failure. But underneath it all I find something throbbing, humming with something essential: love, home, Tao, God. Maybe nothingness. Maybe everything.