Saturday, November 19, 2016


I could easily slip away.

As a swimmer, tired of fighting the sea, lets himself slip beneath the waves.

Not waving, but drowning.

As on a winter’s night a traveller, tired of fighting the storm, lies down and lets the snow cover him.

Se una notte d'inverno un viaggiatore.

As a traveller, midway on his journey through the forest, finds he’s lost his way.

Nel mezzo del cammin di nostra vita.

I’m not lost, because there's nowhere else to go. There’s only here and now.

Nothing ever changes. Mutatis mutandis. Change is an illusion. It’s our reality because we are ourselves illusions, such stuff as dreams are made on.

La vida es sueno.

I used to wonder if there was something wrong with me. But there can be nothing wrong where there can be nothing right.

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