Duende!

I abstract myself from the world, this world where there is hurt, and pain and terrible things, and I create for myself my own place. A place where each and every object and living molecule is cared for with such love their very existence shines with it. Where no thing or person is forgotten. And if they have no place anymore, they are carried off to a new one where they will begin anew. What greater gift is there then a second chance, except perhaps a third?
I apologize if you pine for this place of mine, and I do not let you into it. It is sacred to me, as all things should be sacred to you. I could not let you in even if I wanted most desperately to. I do not hold the power of admittance to this place. But do not fret, you can find it, though it will be of your own making, this place. Let me give you direction...
It is a moment everlasting, written between the lines of passionate love stories, heartbreaking elegies and the most praising of odes. It resounds in every pulse of blood that goes through your veins. It is the first bite you take of a perfectly ripe fruit in the summertime. It is sunlight pouring in through the window, showing the secret motes of dust floating like dancers. It lives in the smallest of crevices, and the largest of spaces. It is where I go, and where I will go when my time as flesh and bone has ended. There you can find me, at any time. There you can find yourself, and take a breath and know what it is to be alive; to feel life buzzing through every inch of you. To be at peace, to find whatever God it is you pray to. This is where I go, and I hope that someday you may come with me, whoever you are. 

Do not be deceived by an ivory tower. This place, is to be found everywhere.

-L.Locke (or at current, Maria Van Gogh.)