How can someone not enjoy the World such as a child would? How can one not take a step outside his molded home in which he does his days, just for the sake of walking out, to see the leaves shaking and the sun shine from a stranger’s eyes? How can we not see how everything’s in balance, how the ant tunnels under the earth, avoiding a trees roots perfectly..how eve death is only a seed for new life…How is it possible not to lay under a cherry tree when it’s snowing it’s blossom, and listen to the troubadour birds singing to the World, our mother? Why do we chose to blindfold ourselves with an old dusty scarf handed out for generations, growing heavier as time goes by; and duck from life with our fists punching the air, hitting everything in our way so we’re not hurt ourselves. We hit the rocks, we hit the butterfly, we hit the child, we hit the flute and it’s deep tune…and way ourselves thin fighting with all that surrounds us, so that we can die without having have lived…How can we?
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