I am everything, and I am nothing. I am the universe, and the stars, and the moon. I am the grain of sand, and the atom. I am the matter and the void. I am the Ying and the Yang. I am the father and the son, the mother and the child. I am the shoe and the road. I am the wanderer, the saint, and the assassin. I am light, I am darkness. I am the extreme and the whisper. I am life, I will be death. I am what I am.
Becoming isn’t the real revolution, as much as keeping the balance in everything I am. That’s a constant effort required by the day and the night, days and months and years. Be everything, and be nothing it’s the very definition of a constant revolution.
Too many times I have doubted, tried to fit in a frame, in a group or an idea. Too many times I have felt guilt for not being able to define myself by any standards. Now I wonder, what if there is no group, what if there is no idea, and no standard, and no moral. What if there isn’t any other way of life than that of accepting yourself, of experiencing yourself in many, perhaps limitless ways.
So, you can be spiritual without being a monk, you can be funny without being shallow, you can play games without being a nerd, and have deep insights into the world of thoughts without being boring. You can exercise your body without being a fanatic. You can respect the world without succumbing to it. You can swear without being judged, and love without being afraid. You can lie without being dishonest.
I don’t care for excesses, for extremes. You can touch them, but you can’t BE them. You can feel the adrenaline of a jump in the void, or the passion in the instant, but you can’t be that adrenaline, or that passion. You can smile of happiness, and cry of sadness, but you can’t be the lips, or the tear. You are both, and you are, at the same time, everything else.
Who cares where the world wants to put me. I don’t trust a smile without sadness, and a tear without joy. None would be real without the other, and yet they are both a state of mind. I don’t care for a constant state of emotion, but for infinite trembling in the soul, constantly switching places and trying to live with each other. It’s a choice, perhaps. Everyone is entitled to their own perceptions, to their own beliefs. Everyone is entitled to desire belonging somewhere, somewhat, or to something, to one way. I choose not to belong, to be nothing, and everything, I choose an infinite way.