Let’s stay young forever, and feel the vibe.
Let the passion of youth never be extinguished, even if the sun may dim and the stars decline.
Let the hearts of the youth burn each day. Let us always speak of the morning.
Our hearts vibrate to the rhythm of life and our will, may it be to our Creator.
Let each day bring the morning, and may each morning call no noon.
Let the rays of light be one with our being and let and the essence of old our ways.
Live on, you youth, live on, you redeemed, for the sun itself smiles down on you.

What does a condemned man do? What does a man with no hope look forward to? One might say, “Today is terrible, but I will look forward to tomorrow.” But what use it tomorrow for the condemned? Doesn’t tomorrow bring quickly his dreadful fate? What use is the beauty of the sun or the calm of the breeze upon his face and skin? Are these not splendor’s that will add to his misery; memories that will torment his eternal soul. He does not ask to hear the sounds of joy and gladness, for where he is headed never have these been present. He is headed to the deep below, where the wails overwhelm the senses and hope is a soon forgotten fable strictly uttered by those above. The memory of the sunshine upon his face amplifies his unending anguish; the smell of the common morning air will plague his mind. “What caused such a fate for this man”, asks the world? He did not take heed to that which is written, that if you hear the voice of God today, do not be stubborn as your ancestors were when they rebelled against God. He chose separation from God - - the path that leads to no sunshine.

When the dry eastern wind raises the dust,
The northern Scottish breeze sways the grass,
Where the pasture and desert meet, the fulfillment of cultivating is met.
Where the man and the woman meet, the very ground shall be covered with scattered weeds, for she will bring the snow, and he will bring the shovel.

My thoughts are so distant, can anyone scale them?
They are deep and high and beyond any man’s limit.
They portray the richness of my soul and the light that makes me dance.
My thoughts are so unique they astound my very self.
Such is the structure of my being; the uniqueness found only in me.
Akin perhaps is the core, found only in writers and poets of old.

The Man: It is I, your hero, your hero made of steel. Ready to protect you from those ready to **** and steal...

The Woman: Who is my hero? Who is my king? Who is the one who rebukes those relentless fiends?

The Man: It is I, your faith, your faithful loving love, the Awesome God Almighty, as faithful as a dove.

The Woman: You live far away in Heaven, and I’m a country-side girl. Why do You call my name when I’m as robust as a man?

The Man: I gave you your yellow hair, the shadow of the radiant sun. I gave you your freckles, the night stars scattered on your precious face.

The Woman: I raise hens all day long, I rear pigs all day long, yet You seek me my hero, and watch me as intensely as a hawk.

The Man: I am here for you, and you exist for Me. How then can I neglect you when your heartbeats call unto Me?
I formed the mountains, and I shaped the valleys, but you I created in My likeness and for My honour.

The Woman: Surely I have nothing to offer You, a lone country girl. You own all of Heaven, where the gold’s as clear as glass.

The Man: The gold may be pure, the waters may be clear, but I could never surrender My life for them as I did for you that yesteryear.

The Woman: Don’t flutter me with words, my new found King of Steel. I have nothing to offer You as You fill my heart with joy.

The Man: You do hold something, something I deem as of great worth. It is your heart My young princess, My daughter and My love.

The Woman: You’re the Rider on the White Horse, but I’m a poor farmer on a dull mule,


*(The document ends here as it has disintegrated too far to be able to make retrieve more of the work.
It is kept in an unspecified museum.)

The son makes the father proud. The son sees what the father does and imitates him. As if he doesn't notice, the father chuckles and in his heart says, “My son.” The son works to reduce the burden on his father, and the father works hard so as not to overwork his son.
Ah, so I see, the father and the son are indistinguishable; the father and the son are one.

I must learn to let go and move forward.
But though my past holds flaws it also holds my treasures.
Will I ever see them again, or is this a sacrifice all [must] make for greater heights?

Yesterday I saw an old woman sitting by a pond. She was alone, looking at the water in deep thought. I thought to myself, “Once she was me.” Once she loved someone; once she was happy about something I once was happy of and once she was saddened about something that once saddened me. I wondered, what she was pondering. Was she thinking about the concluding chapters in her life, or the decisions she made in her life. Was she thinking about Ben, whom she met at fifteen, or Thomas who would later marry her at twenty-five? If she were to give me advice, what would it be? Would she have said, “Follow you dreams”, or perhaps “Live life to its fullest”? She barely made any gestures as she was pondering that which my being craved to perceive. Without turning to me, she said, “Maybe a greater thing will happen, maybe you’ll pull through.” This is a story of a woman I met on a certain day, at a certain spot. All I know is that whatever she was pondering was rich and not mediocre. Whatever lost her, whatever made her gaze at the gently moving water was of worth. By merely looking at her looking away, I too became lost, lost to realms that exist above our own in distant lands. I saw the beauty of age, for the first time, through this woman. I will always remember her and may she always remember me. I will name her, The White Haired Princess of Distant Lands, lands that exist within the soul and beyond the visible stars.

Suppress your own will, so as not to shatter the unity of the group.
The wives job is to manage the family accounts within the limits of her husband's salary, to bring up healthy children and create an environment in which it is easy for her husband to get on with his work.
The society seeks not to find out what life is, but seeks to fulfill it.
Its citizens hearts are founded on loyalty to the workplace and to society.
Their philosophy is a man's work is his life. You simply do it...

Sometimes it feels like I could freeze the world and be the only one unfrozen, take a deep breath, get some rest and the unfreeze it.

O mortal man, what a pitiful creature you are!
A man is bound no matter how he looks at it.
The sinner is plagued by his sins. Each condemn him and he wonders if there is any hope for him.
The righteous is constantly tested to see if his faith is genuine and if his heart is resolved.

Welcome to planet earth, o mortal men, where the games begin that establish my destiny and yours.
Welcome to planet earth, o mortal men, where grey is a fallacy and only white and black exist.
Day bring day and night brings night. Work brings more work but is rest ever found?

You come with nothing and will leave with nothing, yet all work so hard for that which will disintegrate or be lost.
You smile and let go and sleep and ignore that outside this realm eternity will be explored.
You insult and detest, man’s only source of rest and thank a lost man for unearthing an idea that vomits on the living door.
Bye bye bound and mortal man, here on this detestable and fallen world, for as for me I gave in to the plea of the risen King.

A million voices in the city, all crying to be heard…
We walk in groups of ten and twenty, ‘cause in isolation we all fear to be hurt… though we never look up to the skies, to see if the King has returned.

We wear the masks of being happy, full of merry, but all cry from deep within.
We ask ourselves is someone out there listening, and if so, does anyone care?
Is there anybody listening, ‘cause I am crying? Is there anybody there, to see me dying?

We all walk followed by our shadows; our deeds so full of sin.
Can anybody out there redeem us; restore our broken souls?
We cry and look as though we smiling, bearing teeth that hide a lie.
The pain of a man crippled by past pleasure, the deceit of him that caused us to die…
But we can rest assured in this truth, that there are some who too felt our pain, but now enjoy the rest found solely in that coming King.

• Sometimes you need to discard the complex and return to the basic… how you’ll be amazed to find the answer there!

• Don’t seek truth where there isn’t, otherwise you will spend time on things of no value.

• Do not ignore that which nags your heart, solve it, and peace and happiness will quickly spring out.

• It is true, the path of goodness requires sacrifice, and thus your willingness to sacrifice reveals your desire for goodness.

• [To those who are perishing, this is useless (but can be life-giving)] The recent conviction in your heart is a sign that ‘Hashem’ calls you… If you have ears may you have heard! No more will I continue with this…

• The rich man tries to ignore it, but the soul of a man shall live forever and ever and ever. He has chosen where it shall be but he may, and I hope he does, misplace it.

• Man runs to anger or loneliness for security, but he knows not that this is the highest pride, where you even deceive your own heart.

• Your repulsion towards him or her is not because they are wicked; they simply bring forth emotions that compromise your security.

• The desire of the past is the regret of the present and hope of a better future.

• To be a limited being distresses and therefore man ignores He who is unlimited, out of envy to fulfill [such] wretched desires.

• The realities of the world are pitiful, how painful they are!

• Love conquers all, even will-power bows to it.

• Now I know why the father of lies [and sin] is called a snake, how sin [and its condemnation] wraps itself around you.

• Beware of that sin that lingers, for soon you will tolerate it and it will send you to the abyss.

• The beginning of exceptions is the wind up of [progress and] stability.

• The urgency unseen leads to the vanishing of dreams.

• Sometimes the silence speaks better than words and the wind comforts better than a friend.

• There comes a time when a theory must be put into practice, where the [false] security it gave you will escape as water through ones fingers, and only its execution will set you free…

• Maturity is a river which like the Mississippi, disallows retreat.

• In the quest (or desire) to move forward, the former must be broken, that greatness may emerge.

• A woman’s weakness is her strength

• A woman’s weakness is her strength, and no man can deny a woman’s strength.

• Here’s a teaching; never cut in line as you wait in that test of patience. To cut in line is to insult all those who are behind you.


• Ignorance is not bliss, even when [the] reality is painful.

• Don’t look for faults, for in this fallen world you’ll always find them.

• The needs of a man are not physical, but spiritual.

• What is [the power of] hope? It is the reason to continue fighting.

• Beauty does not equal value or worth.

• Love is not a sign of weakness, but of strength, for not all are willing to humble themselves to it, or Him.

• You many never understand what this means, but perfection is liberated.

• There are three stars that all nations seek to achieve… These are: freedom, honor and prosperity.

• Humility will give you a name, a name the Most High will give to you.
  
• When the clouds cover the sky, and darkness falls upon the land, it doesn’t alter the fact that the sun is still shining. Again, regardless of the circumstances that may engulf your capability, the Son still shines.

• No one understands… It’s not that they can’t, but they can’t.

• Do not grab the bull by its horns, it will dislocate your arms and trample you down. Invest in a gun rather and shoot it from a distance.

• Words have the power to hurt more than sticks and stones. They have the power to wound and dislocate the soul.

This morning, I had a dream of a girl with a scar on her face...
She is beautiful, and we were in love.

The relentless smooth breeze of the autumn noon nags me. It carries the whisper of the Japanese woman whose smile tells all but a tale of unforgotten memories.
She’s the woman whose elegance calls upon the butterflies; whose eyes look down but heart longs for uncharted rest lands.
The song she sings is of relentless hope, a hope of stillness and life and more.
Her heart, no man can ever know; never letting go of pain it should have long bestowed.
Is there anyone else but me who hears her voice?
Her unseen tears run down the stream, where her eyes are her heart and her cheeks are the stream banks.

My life is filled with pain, and light hides away from me.
I awake to anguish and only angst of my soul greets me.
Hope has proved herself an invention of imagination - - I look for her, but she never reveals even a hair.
Like the wind, she echoes around but never penetrates my being.
I am like a mongrel dog seeking food even from the refuse bags - - always seeking but never finding.
I lament a sorrowful song for myself for no one comes to comfort my aching soul. My soul is like the ever-thirsty desert soil that is ever ready for rain.
It hungers and thirsts but is put to shame with each passing moment.
My life is filled with sorrow, and unlike a caged bird, I cannot sing.
Like a seedling at the mercy of the heavens; the scorching sun and watering clouds, so is my soul at the mercy of my deliverer.
I await an arrival that if made manifest, offers eternal hope.

Sooner or later you will have to go home…

Remove your clothes and let the cold discipline you,
Open up and allow the heat to expose you.
Open the window and allow the wind to inspire you.
All admire the green pastures, but I say they hide the fertile soil that nourishes them...
So then green is a color of hypocrisy; brown is rich, brown is pride.
See the skin of those of the Dark Continent, as the sun beats against their skin.
Yes, I too was under the spell of the willows...
Forgive me for ending this writing here...

I find myself in a barren field, infinite it is not, though I feel as if I am in another realm.

This sensation came strictly when I was in my childhood...
Like that vision of being in 'that' place of colours of contrast, or rather, intense brilliance reflecting of the white wall…
Or that apartment with a blue light under the door, in which all is forbidden to enter...

Have I, finally gone to my world, alienated from all?