Searching for daylight stars

” I myself am a journalism graduate with a fear of talking to strangers. There must be, out in this world, others. Colour-blind artists. Deaf musicians. Dyslexic writers. People who, everyday, deal with the two or three or four facets of their own natures.”

99j
Art by : 9jedit

Sunday evening flows calm and golden, like riverwater over rocks. The streets are bare. The wind whistles a tune, if you strain your ear. Leaves rustle aloft, the soft shhh sound of waves crashing on a faraway beach.

Sundays have always been like this. Never noisy, always sweet and surreal in all of their quietness. Perhaps it is because sundays are for mass, for bells that toll with sharp punctuality, sometimes overlapping the solemn call of a muezzin. Sundays are days for reflection, quiet admiration.

Head in the clouds, as I am searching for daylight stars and my own version of the truth, my mind plucks at a thought like a harp string, sending vibrations flying all around, echoing off walls and then back.

What a beautiful day to stay indoors, it begins.

And yet my legs itch to turn back and follow the golden light to somewhere far away.

My heart and mind wish to stay, to bask in the quietude and serenity of the day, having reached a point and place mantled by a warmth that makes you not want to move. Instead, staying in place, watching the scenery change until tomorrow comes, inevitably.

My body and soul crave adventure, though. Want to sing old songs, teeter around, walk on brickwalls and explore under bridges, unraveling some of this old city’s mysteries.

How strange it is to be made of such contradictory forces. How wonderful, too. Half the time, I can never decide, though. To be home-loving and have a wanderer’s soul is not so easy, although I am sure there are much harder problems to deal with in life. Even so, I think about all the other people who live such contradictions. I myself am a journalism graduate with a fear of talking to strangers. There must be, out in this world, others. Colour-blind artists. Deaf musicians. Dyslexic writers. People who, everyday, deal with the two or three or four facets of their own natures.

” We can write stories about the journeys that we made.” *

There is always a place in my mind that plays music. And this, this is a song all about traveling the world, and trusting in the brand newness of everydays. And yet I am never sure if I want to write stories or make journeys. Still, perhaps one could argue that in doing either one, one ends up doing both.

Maybe it is not so impossible, after all.

There are some words that should naturally not belong together : flightless birds, inkless tattoos, strange familiarity. And yet they do. They fit together in a same sentence, and one does not negate the other. If seeds can take flight and then grow roots, the improbable, the ironic are perhaps merely oddities. Unusual yet possible.

If humans can live with good and evil inside of them, I think I can manage a heart and mind that are homebodies, and a body and soul always eager to set sail for the next adventure.


* Listening to :

Note : I had so much fun looking for art to pair up with today’s post. 9jedit’s work always leaves me speechless and in awe.

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