Striving for balance, and doing so in gentler, surer and firmer steps everyday, I have learned yet another lesson: it helps immensely to be able to live in the present, to live in the moment, but without being entirely consumed by it; to know that no matter how happy or how miserable one feels in this current moment/hour/day/month, there will be another one waiting, bringing new experiences and new thoughts and feelings along with it. “Memento mori” along with a timeless outlook. Tough line to walk, but I don’t think it’s impossible.

A new-found asceticism is to be discovered in balance. A balanced life does not attract attention, and is often thought of as boring or mediocre. Moderation through choice, however, is not mediocrity. The man with negligible limits who still chooses to moderate his passions and yet still be kind and thoughtful to himself is one who manages to find the fine line between military discipline and tame, gentle wisdom.

The phrase “plucking my heart-strings” never used to make much sense to me. I understood the general concept, but I did not fathom its truth.

It recently made perfect sense in a moment of clarity when exploring the musicality of the metaphor: most people might brush their open palms over a guitar, or try to strum awkwardly with their fingers bunched up together, but it is only those who know how to carefully pluck using their fingers or pick and fret deliberately that truly make the instrument sing. 

In matters of emotions, people might not even actually KNOW that they are doing this to another person - the most important parameter there is whether the one who is “played” has allowed them in, and what “techniques” he or she has afforded the “musician”. 

It really is astounding how the smallest thing can resonate deeply and wildly in one’s psyche. It makes one think.

Something I wrote about three years ago.

It is quite strange, I must say; being an old soul in young flesh.

It feels like serving penance for seven lifetimes past. Not allowed to abandon all that is life or to sleepily let go and rest in Charon’s cold embrace, one is forced to suffer passion, hope, youth, experience and disappointment.

Another way to put it would be like this: wanting to sleep under the summer sun, resting cosily within the shadow of a tall, old, thick-leaved tree, only to be awoken every five minutes from the poke of a tiny grinning devil’s scorching trident. It is my assumption that a great part of those who have died young must have experienced the same anguish and hopelessness. I imagine death to have been the sweetest, most soothing balm for their old, tired souls.

I began life with the highest, most absolute expectations and a fire quenched only by creation. Destruction and disconnection were my only friends thereafter, while I satisfied my pessimistic, misanthropic high. It is only as of late that I have come to entertain the idea that perhaps my only purpose in this life is neither to create nor to destroy, but to reflect, disprove and improve; to remain in the shadows, observe and let my judgement echo through the minds of others.

Only two decades and a half in this cloak made of flesh, my spirit grumbles with a century-old voice. Bright-eyed with excitement facing the unknown, yet burdened by wisdom that would put sages to shame. Fully aware of my insignificance, bearing the strongest confidence in my potential, I take a seat beside the busy flow of life and wait to see how far the ripples of my will shall resonate.

I sign in wonder and despair.

- Hermes