Instead of the solipsistic ennui that defined my early twenties, 

I wish I'd slept on a hammock and made love on the floor below.

There is a candle in your heart, ready to be kindled.
There is a void in your soul, ready to be filled.
You feel it, don’t you?

- Rumi

All too finite

I don't want to wake up wishing I had done more. The world is too big and growing larger. I want to see, smell, hear, taste and touch more of it. Majestic heights, an aurora borealis, underwater worlds, exotic islands, deserts and tundras, cityscapes, neon lights, buzzing crowds, side-street cafes, wet markets, silky sand, yellowed snow, dirty gravel... it doesn't even have to be pristine. I want it all. To bungee-jump, to zorb, to fly a plane, to climb a mountain, to run in the rain, to fall upon the earth exhausted but fulfilled. Our bodies are functional for a finite time, some of these things can only be experienced as long as our sinew and flesh hold whole; while there is will in our spine and strength in our bones to wander, sample and explore. Could just be the wanderlust talking.

There is also all that knowledge out there. If only we could study as many things as we liked and work in multiple fields simultaneously... I wake up wanting to analyze information, to paint, to cook, to play with numbers, to grow herbs and fruits, to write, to dance, to do too many things. We are reconciled to having jobs that we love bits of and must get through the rest of. How can anything encompass everything that one wants to do? If time were not finite it may be possible. Time aside, Hayflick's limit holds and our one guarantee from birth arrives, often before the limit is truly reached. Senescence.

I want to be moved. To tears. To laughter. To something. The last time my heart swelled and sang out was when sitting by the the turquoise waters of Yamdrok Tso. I have been searching for that again, the point where beauty touches so deeply one is overwhelmed by wave after wave of joy, sadness, hope and the infinite other emotions out there. I hear the hearts song on solitary runs by the lake, a few more of those may be good. Maybe I just need to be done with my work, to see a few more sunsets, to run my fingers through the lentils and cardamoms in their sacks at the spice market, to watch the lights on the other side of the banks and it will return. Maybe what I need is to be fulfilled rather than reaching out to a thousand things only to want a million other things.

Is this a mid-midlife crisis? Regrets before the time is done and while I still actually have time to do some of the things on my list? Hence, the greatest fear is that ironically while spending time worrying about not doing/ not being able to do all these things, I could have done them.

A mouthful of

beautiful teeth. It's hard not to stare.

If only life had more "and's" and less "or's"

Écoute-moi

You know, you have madly beautiful ears. The kind of ears I want to draw. Delicate cartilage. Perfectly shaped. Soft, neat, drop-shaped ends. Shell-pinks and creams colouring the kinks. The kind that make me say strange, dorky things like "if I ever tissue-engineered an ear, I'd model it on yours." Did you really not know until I came around?

Es muss sein...

The rough silken hairs
against velvet skin.
A smooth cream,
hints of rose and berries.
Lambent tongues of flame
igniting desire. 

To reach out and touch,
engulf, accept.
To be burnt by the flame
and move away.
That moth that draws closer,
peril sought by its own wings.