Nothing out there can make happy
Nothing out there can make sad

It is all just happenings
when in here is (…)

All out there moves and soothes
but here is a hole that I am not able to lose
Filling, replacing, killing and hoping
all just disappears but does not fill

To conquer the world with its riches
or to obtain control of all desires
is not enough

What remains after this is all gone?

Nowhere but somewhere

Kind of here, kind of there

Somehow I hope, but somehow despair
This state of in-between, pulling my hair
Letting go and just being here

I don´t know, I really just don´t

Hopeless hope, meaningless means
This state of in-between

Where to go next, what to try?
When all just seems to fade away
When the fountains, again, seem to dry

But then again, something is coming
Nothing is wrong

This state of in-between

A Jar

These little scrapes and scratches
the little things to hide


They make me
They take me
Only they appear


But the space
thought to be contained
Is unaffected
Shining clear with it´s emptiness

The little scrapes and scratches, the things to hide
Are really only our hiding place in the forefront of our Eye

On the surface of the Jar
But within
only space inside


I’ve had glimpses of love, and feelings of love, and ideas about love, and, well, physical love. And all probably quite average at that. But something is happening that began a year ago and is hard for me to understand. My concrete heart was delivered a blow I don’t think it can recover from. My heart seems to be steadily softening and the only way I can explain it is, Love. This is the sort of love that dissolves, and thus, destroys. It’s the same kind of love that must be in the ingredients of lye-based Drano because that’s what it feels like. Love-Drano is dislodging years of accumulated bitterness and anger and hatred. It is painful and intermittently beautiful. Love.

I believe all sorts of things. About love and God, and myself. And I don’t actually *know* very much, either. This makes for a disastrous combination. And yet again, somehow, what I’m speaking about seems to be able to dissolve even that explosive mixture. I can’t say I understand it, much less fully describe it, and I’m probably at least partially wrong about it, if not totally, but again…Love.

God and his work

To be aware is to know God

The creator gives
An we the receiver are inspired

But there is a law
The law of appreciation
For if one is astonished by the clarity and beauty
One must not forget

We are nothing as creation
Only a shadow, non-existent without

To be aware is to create and not to forget
That it is nothing

To be aware is to remain in him and see the world created

I’ve managed to get by all right with…

I’ve managed to get by all right with a chronic depression. But now and then I slip and fall. And in that grim bottom of the pit, the most profound teachings from the most enlightened teachers come to seem so irrelevant. The highest value I could imagine to aim for in life comes to seem so foreign, like a stranger that has nothing to do with me. In those moments everything loses meaning. One singular thing is left, and wanting: something very personal.
What matters to me most concretely.
What is closest.
What is most intimate with me.


How could every moment of my incredibly boring, monotonous, insubstantial life be about anything other than the search for this? Just necessarily, automatically, without any deliberate design on my part. And most of the time, without my knowing it.


On my walk I came across a lion unbound
it´s fury sent me flying across the winds against a wall

There I was screaming in pain, but you did not care
You just laughed and I was ashamed
I ran home, locked the door
sat waiting for death to hear my call

It never came for I was too afraid
Hope was left outside the safety of my walls
But in here, there is no light at all

And out there, nobody left to call

My name, my name at all