Sandman

Right before the you close your eyes

Whispering your prayers

When the sandman blows your eyes

 I'll be there ....

And I keep forgetting this lesson … there are 365/366 days on a year. We spend them trying to find a meaning here. Searching for a divinity. Letting our souls be guided by fear, fury, need for others, for dreams, for love, for everything that makes us human … We want happiness. And protection, safety. Maybe money. Maybe a house. Maybe a car. I know I want all those things that cannot be bought, cannot be described in words.

We play God-games till God Himself plays one or two with us. We forget to tell to our beloved ones how much they mean to us because we are too busy with our jobs, our depressions, our everyday problems, too lost in routine, in ourselves, in search for a shelter … until that cruel, meaningless, ugly Reality wakes us brutally …

I wanted the entire world … I wanted words, words, words. I wanted to learn so many things. I wanted to offer so many things to this world that I wanted. I wanted to see so many places. I wanted some people in my life. I wanted everything and nothing; I wanted nothing more, nothing less than any other human being. Where and why have all my dreams flown? ...

“We throw our parties; we abandon our families to live alone in Canada; we struggle to write books that do not change the world, despite our gifts and our unstinting efforts, our most extravagant hopes. We live our lives, do whatever we do, and then we sleep. It's as simple and ordinary as that. A few jump out windows, or drown themselves, or take pills; more die by accident; and most of us are slowly devoured by some disease, or, if we're very fortunate, by time itself. There's just this for consolation: an hour here or there when our lives seem, against all odds and expectations, to burst open and give us everything we've ever imagined, though everyone but children (and perhaps even they) know these hours will inevitably be followed by others, far darker and more difficult. Still, we cherish the city, the morning; we hope, more than anything, for more. Heaven only knows why we love it so...” 
― Michael Cunningham, The Hours