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High Diary of Footsteps in the Snow- the Amsterdam experience

The airplane sat on the runway for an hour in delay, and I was unsure whether it was the weather or my anxiety keeping it down. As soon the plane took off something snapped, my mind stopped; there it was: there I was, trapped by the moment. It happens so often it’s like an unconscious ritual by now. My tears start falling every time I leave a new destination, every time that the ground lets me go, my masks fall. All my heaviness is brought down by gravity and all that remains is a soul yearning to soar, and it does. It goes so far away, that I am a changed person the moment I touch down again.

So I keep on searching, and every time I think that I have arrived, I am weighed down by a trembling fear, a fear so tragic that time will not stop again, my eyes will not see the same wonder in the same way again. All the tricks I play on my mind become obsolete and I am left with myself, the self I have been getting to know slowly, and yet most of my light is still foreign, only to be found in the deepest quests inside, and the farthest trips shocking my senses out of a practiced sedation… And so I click my feet again and I leave the mud of familiar spaces.

Where do you go when you leave? What happens to your soul when you let it be? When you unburden yourself of all the excess weight? How do you fix the unnecessary glitches in your day to day conscious experience?

The search for wonder continues and I am nothing but a footstep in the snow. Almost never existed, melting into the bigger fluid experience. All i can do is dig my feet into the snow as violently as possibly and then just lift off lightly, as not to disturb the delicateness of the experience. But then again, nothing remains the same.

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Twenty-Six, shall we?

I begin again, at the beginning, twenty six and fully here. I have gratitude and a deep tremulous journey ahead. A journey not outwards, to you, or to the world, but inwards into my self. Because I do not feel that different, and I suppose age goes hand in hand with time, and if you don’t check the time you lose yourself. I want to lose myself in this beginning and only want to emerge again at the end.

Losing yourself begins with recognizing that there is a story you tell yourself, one that is fed by all of your upbringing, your culture, your fears, your passions, your dreams and your wildest desires. You could live your entire life telling yourself and everyone else that story.

OR

Your could live your life free from all those conditions. Imagine your life Free from boundaries of a single story. Imagine living obnoxiously and inherently to the point of elation. Imagine being able to love yourself, faults,fears and all. Imagine being able to demand and attain your own freedom, not from the chains of the world, but from yourself.

Twenty six, is young; but I am both very young and very old. I was born yesterday twenty six years ago, but every day after that as well. Time is time as long as you bound yourself by it. Time is free of judgment and it is yours from beginning to end; you just decide where and how to locate those points.

“Begin at the beginning, and go on till you come to the end; then stop.” Lewis Carroll