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The Designer

350/365

The mind of a creator is a place where magic and tragedies are one and the same.
Whatever happens happens when they take their work seriously.

And the one’s that don’t get left behind.

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Much on the plate to eat. This and that. The want to eat it all while faced with the impossibility. Could take a bite of each thing just to get a taste, but not one thing would get finished.

Building glass towers…

Running out. The bomb is ticking and there is not time to sit and think of how to stop it. It’s time to act and make a move. To feel like something was attempted. So that if the bomb goes off it feels like at least the best was tried. In case one thing doesn’t defuse the it, it should all be considered. Lives are at risk and being helpless is not an option.

Sculpting away at the block…

This doesn’t belong here. Being capable of correcting this error makes it a duty. The weight of when it’s right or wrong to make a move is overwhelming. What if it’s the wrong call? What if the decisions have the capacity to be more informed? How does one correct the mistakes of the universe with nothing but a cape and a complex? And acted and things still go wrong does the blame shift to the failed hero?

The dam collapse to a waterfall…

This prison cell, these bars, whether a day or a life go by while behind them, won’t last forever. There will be freedom in spirit if not in mind. Patients and attempts to escape must remain alive in case the solution lies behind doing. And if not, understanding these bars will at least provide wisdom and knowledge of the prison. And perhaps that is the way out. Maybe perspective will tell that the cage is freedom.

Swerve through three lanes of traffic and hit a church going 100…

One after another the dominoes fall. Too big to stop the next one. All other fall affected by the previous. It’s how it should be. Water ripples at the stone, not because it screams in pain but because it’s telling the shore of its missing land dweller and where it could be found. Harmony that looks like a struggle. Meanwhile, the stone’s goal was to be at the bottom of the pond.

Peace established…

Sitting atop this mountain, the breeze is all that is heard. The city below in ruin and at war, but it’s known as part of the cycle. The lives affected by my climb away to the clouds is no more than a byproduct necessary as they did not join the difficult journey uphill. The crippling fear of being accompanied by nothing other than the casual chilly breeze has kept the idle as are. Looking down at the chaos with hope and faith another will rise and climb. The meet is awaited.

It dissolves when it rains…

The solitude and awareness. This ‘self’ felt is only who is thought but never is. The curious creature trapped within a product generating machine is the reality. It doesn’t get involved with the machine. Does not stop it. It does not influence it. It won’t question or prevent the machine. It is only interested. Nothing more.

A stop watch is not broken just because it stands still. It does it’s job motionless…

In the ‘moment’ it all fades to the background. Casualties are not considered. And being present becomes truth. The flow of zen states of mind, where magic and tragedies co-exist.