We come spinning out of nothingness, scattering stars like dust.
Everyone turns toward someone. Look for one scarred by the King's polo stick.
This world is in deep trouble, from top to bottom. But it can be swiftly healed by the balm of love.
How will you know the difficulties of being human, if you are always flying off to blue perfection? Where will you plant your grief seeds? Workers need ground to scrape and hoe, not the sky of unspecified desire.
Don't sit and wait. Get out there, feel life. Touch the sun, and immerse in the sea.
Rise up nimbly and go on your strange journey to the ocean of meanings.... Leave and don't look away from the sun as you go, in whose light you're sometimes crescent, sometimes full.