Lucid dreams, they continue over and over and last night was more intense than usual. I wake up excited like the physical reality has changed and then quickly realise that it hasn't. Sweating, I never sweat so it was intense. Where are the paint brushes? I've gone too far. The extremes of which one could live without balance are real, that is reality. Should I drive somewhere and start over again or should I stay close in case I'm needed? I don't like putting myself first, it doesn't feel right. Like a lighthouse, still and spinning, around and around. The things I own make me sick, they own me. What can set a man free, love, what can trap a man, love. A flower is as beautiful when it dies as it is when it blooms but few people care while it is still a seed. A man that cares puts the seed into the Earth and waters it. When water is nowhere nearby he finds water, searching for it until he dies along with the seed. Martyrdom is a life in service to that which is not the self, but rather the whole, which in turn serves the self, understanding that the end is inevitable.

I have found myself in states of pure strength and I have found myself in weakness. Where is this space in between? What was once a mess became organized only to become a mess again. I wasn't putting things back where I found them, I was moving things around again. Everything has it's place.