“The stars… do you think they know how hard we fight for them? Do you think they fight for us?”
I wrote that to someone.
They sit so smuggly, staring down at us like radiating raindrops ready to fall on our little heads. I wonder, if given the chance, they’d do just that… fall upon us with their pearly might.
What if they aren’t stars at all?
What if they are revealing holes in the greater scheme of things? What if they are simply deteriorating spots in a large blanket that covers the world when our daytime is used up? I expect the sun needs rest as much as we do, shining all the time. The sun’s got a lot to do, you know.
If that endless grey really is just a facade for something much greater, then what is hiding behind it? Those pinholes reveal something much greater that we are obviously not meant to see. But what can it be? What crystalline brilliance is too blinding that we are neglected the privlage to witness?
You’d find light…
...and all that’s pure in this world.
””Everything comes to an end.
When they get tired of the sky,
shooting stars fall on earth,
by a silent rain on the meadow,
unaware that here, life is annoying too,
oblivious of the luck to be admired by all, in the sky.
The whole day, cooped up in the tipi,
forbidden to do anything because I’m too young,
I can’t be of any use for the tribe.
Dreaming, I escape from my insignificant life,
And, oddly, the morning after, I am covered by dust and stars.
But no one knows my precious discoveries.
No one notices my worth and my pain.
No one knows stars are dying.
Stars fall, humans rise, and me I can only seek after…
a reason to smile, a motive to run, a way to choose…
looking for a place in a world.. on earth or in the sky.
This is the somnambulant’s instinct, fleeing the real world,
being in the limits, sleepwalking between dream and reality,
rising the night then falling the next day,
counting the fallen star, counting down the hours of insomnia.”“
