wandering

The key to a wonderful life is to never stop wandering into wonder.

For how long will you keep on wandering around for infinite lifetimes? Your own light is not there. For how long will you keep on wandering in the dark? One has walked for billions and billions of miles and yet he has not seen the light. He has not found the right path. The truth will have to be known, will it not?

I had no goals, no ambitions. That left me free to wander and amuse myself.

She liked then to wander alone into strange and unfamiliar places. She discovered many a sunny, sleepy corner, fashioned to dream in.

How I miss wandering around with old souls, Aimlessly moving from one place to anotherHow I miss all our dreams and our goalsAnd how we've lost ourselves to find each otherSeems like a playful game of hide-n-seekBut that's how we'll forever play this lifeLoving and living the truth that we seekUntil embraced we find our way to striveGazing into strangers' eyes to find our soul mates,Knowing we're so much closer than we thought.Our heart keeps the light that forever radiatesThrough all the darkness, 'til love is taughtAnd yet again we look into the skies,We see the stars, the moon, that lightMissing our home beyond the nightsLiving in love until the end of the fight.

They say Alexander the Great slept with 'The Iliad' beneath his pillow. Though I have never led an army, I am a wanderer. During the waning moon, I cradle Homer__ 'Odyssey' as if it were the sweet body of a woman.

It__ the beating of my heart. The way I lie awake, playing with shadows slowly climbing up my wall. The gentle moonlight slipping through my window and the sound of a lonely car somewhere far away, where I long to be too, I think. It__ the way I thought my restless wandering was over, that I__ found whatever I thought I had found, or wanted, or needed, and I started to collect my belongings. Build a home. Safe behind the comfort of these four walls and a closed door. Because as much as I tried or pretended or imagined myself as a part of all the people out there,I was still the one locking the door every night.Turning off the phone and blowing out the candles so no one knew I was home. __ause I was never really well around the expectations of my personalityand I wanted to keep to myself. and because I haven__ been very impressed lately. By people, or places.Or the way someone said he loved me and then slowly changed his mind.

I__ learning persistence and the closing of doors, the way the seasons come and go as I keep walking on these roads, back and forth, to find myself in new time zones, new arms with new phrases and new goals. And it hurts to become, hurts to find out about the poverty and gaps, the widow and the leavers. It hurts to accept that it hurts and it hurts to learn how easy it is for people to not need other people. Or how easy it is to need other people but that you can never build a home in someone__ arms because they will let go one day and you must build your own.

She had a wild, wandering soul but when she loved, she loved with chaos and that made all the difference.

_, the wine of a womanfrom heaven is sent, more perfect than allthat a man can invent.When she came to my bed and begged me with sighsnot to tempt her towards passion nor actions unwise, I told her I__ spare her and kissed her closed eyes, then unbraided her body of its clothing disguise.While our bodies were nude bathed in candlelight fineI devoured her mouth, tender lips divine;and I drank through her thighs her feminine wine._, the wine of a woman from heaven is sent,more perfect than all that a man can invent.

_, the wine of a woman from heaven is sent,more perfect than all that a man can invent.

If I__ perplexed by the fact that I__ constantly lost, maybe somewhere in my head I__e determined that being lost serves a greater purpose than being found.

The paralyzing fear of being lost is fed solely by the irrational fear that we will never be found.

Have we ever thought that being lost is our destination?

In his face there came to be a brooding peace that is seen most often in the faces of the very sorrowful or the very wise. But still he wandered through the streets of the town, always silent and alone.

I woke up early and took the first train to take me away from the city. The noise and all its people. I was alone on the train and had no idea where I was going, and that__ why I went there. Two hours later we arrived in a small town, one of those towns with one single coffee shop and where everyone knows each other__ name. I walked for a while until I found the water, the most peaceful place I know. There I sat and stayed the whole day, with nothing and everything on my mind, cleaning my head. Silence, I learned, is some times the most beautiful sound.

(2002) In Rome, month upon month, I struggled with how to structure the book about my father (He already had the water, he just had to discover jars). At one point I laid each chapter out on the terrazzo floor, eighty-three in all, arranged them like the map of an imaginary city. Some of the piles of paper, I imagined, were freestanding buildings, some were clustered into neighborhoods, and some were open space. On the outskirts, of course, were the tenements--abandoned, ramshackled. The spaces between the piles were the roads, the alleyways, the footpaths, the rivers. The bridges to other neighborhoods, the bridges out...In this way I could get a sense if one could find their way through the book, if the map I was creating made sense, if it was a place one would want to spend some time in. If one could wander there, if one could get lost.

Trees are sanctuaries. Whoever knows how to speak to them, who ever knows how to listen to them, can learn the truth. They do not preach learning and precepts, they preach, undeterred by particulars, the ancient law of life. A tree says: A kernel is hidden in me, a spark, a thought, I am life from eternal life. The attempt and the risk that the eternal mother took with me is unique, unique the form and veins of my skin, unique the smallest play of leaves in my branches and the smallest scar on my bark. I was made to form and reveal the eternal in my own smallest special detail. A tree says: My strength is trust. I know nothing about my father, I know nothing about the thousand children that every year spring out of me. I live out the secret of my seed to the very end, and care for nothing else. I trust that God is in me. I trust that my labor is holy. Out of this trust I live.