How to Be a Romantic

Because romantics are far too rare.

from the heart of jonnytran and the soul of pneuma

Have a question?
You should ask it here.

Unhappiness is when we worry about not having something, depression is when we realize we’ll never have it, and freedom is when we realize that nothing is ours and nothing can be ours which in effect means nothing isn’t ours. Jed McKenna
It’s nice to write down your thoughts so that years later, you can read those words and laugh at yourself, without the pain.

It’s nice to write down your thoughts so that years later, you can read those words and laugh at yourself, without the pain.

I feel your pain…

I feel your pain…

We have crossed paths. Will we ever cross again?

We have crossed paths. Will we ever cross again?

What will matter on the sunset of your life?

What will matter on the sunset of your life?

The Source of Love

fountain

I discovered the Source. The Source of Love. Pure Love. Unconditional Love. Timeless Love. Of course, I’m not the one who discovered It. It revealed Itself to me. I was dreamt. And then one day, I was dreamt to be aware, of what was aware of me. Always here. Always there. Closer than close can be. In this world of separation, there is me, and there is thee. But before thee, and even before me, there is the empty Sea, that fills my heart and the universe I see. So so empty, there’s nothing incomplete. Nothing to be, to be empty.

Finally.
Location: Amsterdam, the Netherlands

Finally.

Location: Amsterdam, the Netherlands

Am I really singled out for him in some way, is there really some pale gold, arctic light that envelops only us two? Gudren Brangwen in Women in Love by D.H. Lawrence

Sonnet 43

When most I wink, then do mine eyes best see,
For all the day they view things unrespected;
But when I sleep, in dreams they look on thee,
And darkly bright, are bright in dark directed.
Then thou, whose shadow shadows doth make bright,
How would thy shadow’s form from happy show
To the clear day with thy much clearer light,
When to unseeing eyes thy shade shines so!
How would, I say, mine eyes be blessed made
By looking on thee in the living day,
When in dead night thy fair imperfect shade
Through heavy sleep on sightless eyes doth stay!
All days are nights to see till I see thee,
And nights bright days when dreams do show thee me.

- William Shakespeare

I had to decide…

… was my love for her conditional? or unconditional?