wanderer

In the course of our journey leading to Consciousness, our objective should not be creating a positive character, and thus a pleasant scenario, but finding the Existence behind every scenario.

We are therefore constantly on the road, straying from one mental image to the next, and identify with these images, and derive our identity from the images.

The Wanderer will stop when they recognize the activities of the mind and refuse to follow it any longer. The Wanderer realizes that with the help of the mind they will not be able to surpass the mind. The Wanderer will experience that stopping is the inactive moment of the mind, the silence between thoughts. In that silence, the Wanderer will experience the Consciousness without forms, and recognize that he or she is in fact the Presence without thoughts.

The Wanderer in every moment spent awake faces two alternatives: a choice is to be made between the ambitions stretching between past and future, or the quiet, simplicity, purity and emptiness, full of vibrating life, of the present. It is, however, only the latter that brings to the life of the Wanderer the Witnessing Presence!

When a Wanderess has been caged, or perched with her wings clipped, She lives like a Stoic, She lives most heroic, smiling with ruby, moistened lips once her cup of Death is welcome sipped.

There__ something about arriving in new cities, wandering empty streets with no destination. I will never lose the love for the arriving, but I'm born to leave.

From all that I saw,and everywhere I wandered,I learned that time cannot be spent,It only can be squandered.

I was forced to wander, having no one, forced by my nature to keep wandering because wandering was the only thing that I believed in, and the only thing that believed in me.

Well, at least this is what I told myself every day as I fell asleep with the fire still burning and the moon shining high up in the sky and my head spinning comforting from two bottles of wine, and I smiled with tears in my eyes because it was beautiful and so god damn sad and I did not know how to be one of those without the other.

Whenever you go on a trip to visit foreign lands or distant places, remember that they are all someone's home and backyard.

He kept wandering all his life until the day he met her. For the first time, he felt he should stop and never look back again. Everything else seemed worthless. Such was her magic.

Our lips were for each other and our eyes were full of dreams. We knew nothing of travel and we knew nothing of loss. Ours was a world of eternal spring, until the summer came.

_, Muse of the Heart__ Passion,let me relive my Love__ memory,to remember her body, so brave and so free,and the sound of my Dreameress singing to me,and the scent of my Dreameress sleeping by me,_, sing, sweet Muse, my soliloquy!

Whenever there is love beyond boundaries .... Whenever trust flows deeper than oceans .... Nevertheless, a Trial is born .... You pass that trial, sacred you shall be .... if you don't, your are immortal !!!!

Crossing the limit is not my styleMy footsteps meander less than a mileI travel the world perhaps in a minuteYet a dream, to me, is never infinite!

Wonders amaze me. They can aim wanderlessly in any forest, be it of dark trees or lighted bushes. And apparently, as per what I__e heard, they can buy stuff that__ on sale, but only if and when they feel wonderfully wonderful. Because otherwise they wouldn__ really be themselves, which would be a problem for them, because if they aren__ what they are - they can__ exist, and if they don__ exist _ that makes them invisible and silent to all the wandering people, who may or may not be looking for them to sell themselves to.

Nothing stays forever, nobody does rather. All the things, people will leave you one fine day and you__l be a wanderer in solitude again. You__l moan again silently through the process of decaying. All your richness or poornesswas never really of worth. When you were born, you were dead, respiring to cease. You__e a trader, exchanging everything!

Following the death of his wife, Sam Johnson wrote to the Reverend Mr. Thomas Warton, "I have ever since seemed to myself broken off from mankind; a kind of solitary wanderer in the wilds of life, without any certain direction, or fixed point of view: a gloomy gazer on a world to which I have little relation." But my wife wasn't dead, merely absent.