There is no constant heightened state of bliss, no ideal. It doesn’t exist, and for anyone to imply that it does is bullshit. The mind, however, loves to seek this unending state of peace and bliss, and this keeps us trapped. Trapped in a cycle of suffering which we cannot escape by means of the mind which itself is the creator of the cycle. Trapped in hell.

Side by side they remained — free. And then it was that I knew the meaning of love…of real love, not the grotesque, sweet, sticky phrase we sell to one another with rings and impossible promises…

Can I write a real truth?

No, it’s all just a show…

Catherine scanned the ballroom, and then noticed a handsome gentleman moving slowly towards her, a slender smile across his face. He stopped in front of her and bowed, his well-combed black hair slightly falling across his forehead.

Jean sat silently, eyeing the woman suspiciously, wondering how her luck would find her sitting across the table from Mente during this morning’s expedition to her neighborhood coffee shop…one of her most cherished — and usually peaceful — weekly rituals.

Before long, the boy hardly noticed the mask anymore, and slowly began to forget the hidden faces of his friends. Eventually, the mask became part of him, and he forgot his own face.

They created stories, trying to make sense of everything around them that they could not begin to understand. But, all the while, there was an ache in Jack that he couldn’t explain. Something that wasn’t sure if he believed in the elaborate stories they told…

It stood there, silently, its roots clutching the dense earth as it gently danced in the breeze. It danced...taunting me.

Suddenly, the ant sunk its tiny, jagged pinchers into my flesh, a sharp stinging pain shooting through my ankle. But I remained still, unmoving…