Life feels itself

Life feels itself. I didn't understand this line when I first heard it. I've thought this line a bit since I've first heard. I think I may have a slight grasp on the idea.

Just as much as I can claim to feel life, life feels itself. It is aware, in sense. Life is alive. Life breathes and moves and thinks just as I do. It is unique as I. It has it's own desires and dislikes, it's own personality so to speak. It loves. And it feels pain. This life can hurt. But this life has purpose, a flow, a rhyme and reason like the tide. It knows what's important; what's significant. It is ever moving like a creature on to itself.

I must care for my life. I must be cognizant of what it desires for me. I must be aware of how life feels because life feels itself. But it also feels me.

I turn on my car to find two lights on the dash. On the right, the check engine light and on the left, the empty gas tank light. As I roll over the bumps in my apartment complex, the gas light dims and disappears for a few seconds. It lets me know that there's still a bit sloshing around in there. I open my g-mail to find an e-mail from my ex. The air around me began to fizzle and my heart paused as I read. It lets me know that there's still a bit sloshing around in there. <|3

H.A.N.

Women need the art, poetry, music, and creative safe spaces more than the men. #period

Art Piece - Senorial

TITLE - Senorial MEDIUM - aquaerosol & glass on canvas DIMENSIONS - 8' x 12' SUGGESTED PRICE - $10 DESCRIPTION - I broke a bottle, cooked a canvas, and this is what became of it. <|3

Konstant Be

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