We all know those wandering souls, those strange people that seeming appear from nowhere at the door step of our existence. They enter into our lives as a guest would ones home, they stay for a time yet unselfishly they do not a make a home of it yet care for it all the same. Like all guests they too must leave, going as they came without any expectation. Yet what remains is the impression they make on you, how they change you.Even in their taking leave they manage to give. It is only then their beauty is truly understood.

I used to think that it was wealth that lead to peace, it lay in the ability to generate so much money that it would be limitless one would give up counting . The older I get however it seems I had it all backwards, he had to be at peace to point the he give up the counting of his coins and bills. In doing so he no longer attached limits to what he he had, it in turn become limitless and he became wealthy. It was peace that lead to wealth, true wealth.

Life it seems, at least in my understanding is not too different from the timeouts from my youth. Funny how the passing of those minutes in that corner felt like years, yet life is also measured in years. It is not something that is particularly enjoyed, just endured for the time being, like timeouts eventually it to shall come to pass.

When I die, my descendants will burn my body and cast the ashes into a river to be carried away. To them, only in death was I ever there. Yet it was not true. From my first breath to the last I was already there. The world and all within it being not unlike the river bed. The rushing current being the passage of time, how it brought new things from upstream, and how it eroded and decayed the old till it was to carried away, to either settle elsewhere or to float to the unknown.

Far too often man forgets, falls prey to the illusion of money and vast wealth. For it is a thin blanket of the feeblest fabric, but it promises the warmth of a thousand suns. He contents himself thus, places it upon himself, wrapped within it confines himself, blinds himself to its shortcomings, the limits of it. Yet in the end wealth proved treacherous, for in life it was a blanket of warmth, yet when the coldness of death approached its warmth disappeared as if it never existed, for it was bound to this world and not of the next where it was of little use.