Temptation to betray yourself, turn away from your life and with envy to look at someone else’s sometimes arises in me completely unexpectedly. To betray for me is to consider what is happening to me, something completely unimportant.
You need to leave everything-and to be somewhere in a strange cycle of life. You need to urgently start some other life. What-it is incomprehensible, but certainly not the one that you live now-even if you have been quite satisfied with (at least) how you live now as you live now.
But there really are many places or events where other people are good and joyful and without me – and this does not mean that they are bad with me. There are many places and events where others are good, because there is no me there. There are places where they do not remember about me, although they know. There are peaks that I can’t achieve, because I chose to climb to others-and someone ended up where I will never find myself from my own choice or rise, but much later. And then this temptation arises – to turn away from your life,
to worry about what is happening now with you as not valuable, but what is happening without you – as the only important, and yearn from this, and stop seeing what surrounds what surrounds.
You can write the blood of your heart-and then my “book” can take its place among your favorite works of some good person
What helps to meet with this temptation and return to yourself, and not endlessly yearn about where I am not and, perhaps, will not be? Which allows you to be equal to yourself, do not jump out of your own skin and do not try to pull on someone else’s? A few years ago, I found for myself the magical words that I had previously shared here – but it will never be superfluous to repeat them. These are the words of John Tolkien, which he wrote to his publisher, tired of constant discussions about whether such a “wrong” romance as “lord of the rings” can be published at all, and that, perhaps, it should be edited, reduced somewhere half …Or even rewrite. “This book is written by my blood, thick or liquid – what is it. I can’t “more”.
This life is written by my blood, thick or liquid – what is it. I can’t more, and I have no other blood. And therefore, all attempts to make bloodletting with a frenzied demand “Pig the other!”And” cut these fingers for not having you “..
You can write the blood of your heart-and then my “book” can take its place among your favorite works of some good person. And she can stand nearby, on the same shelf, with a book of the one to whom I was so envious and whose skin I wanted to visit so much. Surprisingly, they can be equally valuable, although the authors are very different. It took me several years to realize this fact.