Don't think the past is all that is.
Don't think the future as all that will be.
Be here now and see it all.

Don't fret, you know the game.
Don't fret, they know the game.
Don't fret for it is the same player in each "body"
It is all the same game.

It's not what you trust the world to accept about you, but instead what you trust yourself to accept about the world.

I sat and cried and cried, not for sadness, but because I realized the world really was love.

The things I have seen in my life make the sides of my heart hurt and makes my eyes want to weep.

I look into the heart of Madness and see Tranquility.

We forget that yes can turn into no at any moment.
A fire can be lit, run out of fuel and then turn back into nothing.
It can dissipate to nothingness.

For you to see powers is to see icons.

To learn how to read music is to see more icons.

To read more language is to see more icons.

For you to understand emotion is to see more icons.

For you not to see icons is to see it all.

Pits so earthy and can be understood no matter what direction you look at it.

Peaks can only be understood at the summit and is guessed to be what is from below.

It's all earth.

The tides of other's are in the wake of emotion.

How could I even begin to convey to another how I truly felt? Perhaps the necessity to put into words is not needed. I sat and held hands with the molten honey, kissed the fire embers over and over, I did it. These people only exist in my mind as the raw emotion brought about by their raw emotion. Maybe my raw emotion is their raw emotion, or maybe not. Does it matter, I mean to say, is it necessary to know what the other felt? Maybe we all feel the same way all the time but we describe it differently. Maybe we feel completely different all the time and we try so hard to convince the other. I know this though. I feel a strange feeling that would look like a dark purple gem. I feel a slight sinking of the inner heart but the outer skin of my heart pulls up. It pulls up through my chest, up to the base of my throat. It manifests through my body to my eyes. This fury hides behind the ducts of my eyes. My heart is cold, my chest is warm, my eyes are tired. I can’t name it because a single name would be too broad. And when I think of Austin… The feeling intensifies to the point that I wish to weep. He passed away some time ago now. I can say that it hurts now because the front of my throat, the Adams apple, it feels like there is a weight connected and the weight is pulling down my throat into my stomach. With every breath I feel the same, with every blink I feel still. I miss my brother.

As I look out to others to find myself, I do. It seems that my heart convinces my mind with a subtle hum to take up that position and lay on it as time goes by. I see someone’s art and feel as if they described my whole life. I sit and listen to someone’s album and I feel as if they have been watching me since birth. How else can they do something like this, something so random, and yet so familiar to me, someone.

I - “What is this realm?”

Figment Master - “This is no realm.”

I - “What type of world is this then?"

Figment Master - “This is no question.”

I - “No questions?”

Figment Master - “There does not need to be talking.”

You must not fret if you seek waking. Waking happens as natural as night and day.