We were never really born, we will never really die. It has nothing to do with the imaginary idea of a personal self, other selves, many selves everywhere: Self is only an idea, a mortal idea. That which passes into everything is one thing. It’s a dream already ended. There’s nothing to be afraid of and nothing to be glad about. I know this from staring at mountains months on end. They never show any expression, they are like empty space. Do you think the emptiness of space will ever crumble away? Mountains will crumble, but the emptiness of space, which is the one universal essence of mind, the vast awakenerhood, empty and awake, will never crumble away because it was never born.- Jack Kerouac
Fortune At
to love, to be loved
wanted, needed, counted on
breath, a bowel movement
the patter of rain on the roof
the hum of a full fridge
money, jingling in your pocket
a warm bed, a warm body
heart beating, music that moves
morning sun on your face
no anger, at home in this world
here and now
alive
another day.
No Yesterdays. No Tomorrows.