A postscript means everything sometimes. A short second afterthought, five words can change the tides and push the seas back into the soul to fill it once more with the life of the world.
Then one hears the soft wind through the leaves as it kisses the skin and the construction, the cars, the motorbikes, the loud music coming from the kitchen at Jiwa Juice are all a faded far-off background. It brings an unexplainable, almost intangible feeling - not even a feeling really, but some sort of focus or filter that makes everything beautiful, even tremendous hardships and disappointment. The worst of things are no longer chances of bad or good worthy of a woe-be-me, but simply a rock on the path to pick up and learn from.
Change pace.
Walk around it if need be.
A rock is not good or bad. It can't make you sad, or mad or curse the stars unless you're not looking where you're going. It's only a stone really, to be stepped on or stepped over, depending on the size, and if one takes the time to see it - really see it, all its porous grains or smooth sides, its rough edges and hard points - takes the time to feel its texture and judge its weight, then, as Lennon the Sorcerer once told me, that focus, the knowing of a thing - anything, a rock, a mountain range, a sunset, a stubbed toe, a quick wave, a callous tone, a sickness, a setback, anything - the knowing of that thing to be so can make you whole. Just see it, see it's beauty (everything has a beauty about it, no matter how fucked or depraved, after all, Scarface is a beautiful movie, is it not?), understand it, understand its energy and draw from it with a deep breath.
