It has been 6 weeks since I've returned from Ethiopia. In honesty, I haven't taken one single moment to just be still. Quite frequently I think of Ethiopia and yearn for it like it is my home as though it has always been my home. I find it a constant struggle to keep it alive. Keep my perspective outside of myself. Keep the knowledge of the stories I learned alive.
"I want to keep my soul fertile for the changes, so things keep getting born in me, so things keep dying when it is time for things to die. I want to keep walking away from the person I was a moment ago, because a mind was made to figure things out, not to read the same page recurrently. Only the good stories have the characters different at the end than they were at the beginning. And the closest thing I can liken life to is a book, the way it stretches out on paper, page after page, as if to trick the mind into thinking it isn't all happening at once."
"No, life cannot be understood flat on a page. It has to be lived; a person has to get out of his head, has to fall in love, has to memorize poems, has to jump off bridges into rivers, has to stand in an empty desert and whisper sonnets under his breath:
I'll tell you how the sun rose
A ribbon at a time...
-Through Painted Deserts