Dreamless

Oh you who art dreamless
You who shape your life around those you love,
living for purposes of others,
Trying to understand their life and motives,
Assisting them in colouring their dreams,
Loving them with pure emotions.

But you, you who have no dreams.
You drift around like a balloon without a string,
You let yourself be drifted by the seasonal winds,
You are tossed around by the whimsical drafts,
You do not even have a destination,
A homeless spirit with no tomb.

You feed on the happiness of others,
But yet for all the happiness you can create,
You are constantly malnourished.
Isn't it time when you learn to dream, to steer, to love passionately,
To create your own little happiness,
Instead of running away time and again.

26581124122

If I were to be only known for my achievements thus far, I would be called 26581124122, or some other variant/permutation. Pleased to meet you.

Finding the rhythm of life

Perhaps I had never noticed the innate pattern, perhaps I wasn't exposed to it when I was young. Perhaps I have intentionally suppressed it over the years, perhaps there will never be such a thing. However, right now I am trying to find the rhythm of life - of my life, my innate movement and flow, my ebb and my surge, my tempo and my rest, my push and my pull. My oneness with myself.

Not dreaming

It struck me how little I dream, or even remember I was dreaming these few weeks. At least at night in bed. Was dozing off in sermon today, half thinking half formed thoughts, and dreaming a lot. I don't remember what I was daydreaming about, but at least I was moving around in my dreamworld, interacting with dream people. I need to sleep more but bad habits and circumstances probably prevents me from doing so.

記憶

Da Silva Lane

This address seems so familiar, perhaps it is where my lower pri form teacher stayed. I remember that she invited the class over to her house once before, and I remember watching Peter Pan for the first and only time there. I remember the clock in the alligator, Wendy being forced off the plank, Captain Hook's ... hook, Peter Pan and Tinkerbell flying around. However I didn't even remember that I could blog this using my IPT on the taxi ride home, until I was debating whether to switch on my laptop at home. Memory is a funny thing. I have no impression of certain happenings at all, while some (?)repressed memories come out in an instant at some trigger. And possibly some of my memories are fake/self-created, to fill gaps, to maintain logical flow etc. I hope I still can differentiate between reality and made-up thoughts though.

Today's lucky number is 4. According to the dice.