The Dawn

“Is life the same for you?” she asked the cat who had wandered to her abode, now eating on that day’s leftovers. It looked at her, at first wary, then in a meek voice asked for more. Aria threw the last piece of bread with no regrets, for she was old and worn and needed little food. For this little cat, the world consists of food and survival. There is no love in its glance, no passion, no anger, just desire. She had seen the same look in many human eyes, even in her own when she glanced at herself in the mirror.

The cat now, disinterested in Aria, looked for someplace else in hopes to find some element of interest. It bounded off after the poor squirrel who had the misfortune of being sighted by the sharp eyes of the little cat. Aria watched as the little cat played with her prey, so treacherous its game, never letting the poor squirrel go…

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Prologue

Arlo could no longer see, the darkness had blended in so well; it seemed to him that only darkness was devoid of fragility, that only darkness had the solidity of a change-bringer. A soft whisper of movement slowed him to a stop, as a voice uttered a single word, “We.” But then it came from another and another and soon everywhere there was an echo, an echo which shook the heart, which moved mountains, which stilled the storms. It was an echo of creation, of the beginning and the ending, of the world and the universe. It was the voice of the Living.

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The Storm and the Echoes

The storm comes with the slightest of warnings; first comes the Whisper, caressing and lovely, then comes the Wind, cold and rough, and at last the Storm awakens…

Everything leaves an echo as it creates a motion, from a heart to a soul to a body and eventually to the world. What echo leaves behind a stone…

When a heart beats, it leaves an echo and that echo leaves yet another echo and so forth this deep chain continues, ever changing and ever-lasting. Every person who enters a life, every consciousness that…

To everything there is a balance, to everything there is a contradiction. This world is a paradox, to the True Reason there is always the False One and to a sound there is always silence. Paradox upon paradox upon…

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Path

Each one of us passes through these situations however some of us win, they are victors, and they succeed not because they try to make a difference but because they are destined to. Destiny is like a child born in the middle of World War II in a small town being crushed to the ground, his mother swallowed by the inevitable while the fragile wins his life. We do say that we create our destiny but it is always there waiting for us to embrace it through a set of actions that we will make. Our every choice is towards it, no matter how much despairing or hopeful, great or petty it maybe.

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Of Old Books & Strangers

There is just something about a battered old book that is irresistible. There is a distinct scent that clings to it. It is a scent that makes you think of the good old days. It is a scent that makes you feel lonely. It is a scent that arouses memories. It is a scent that arouses the wanderlust in you. It is a scent that makes you want to at once run wildly and curl up around a warm fire with a cup of hot tea. It is a scent that ah! cannot be described. It can only be felt. It is a shot of pure adrenaline. It is a touch of euphoria. It is confusion. It is…

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