• Isn't it funny? We look up at the stars, find them beautiful though they're naught but chalk or fire. Yet this little star, our planet... it's living and well. It works so hard, and the strain is so tough that it needs to take a break every sixteen hours or so.

    Now. After realizing that we are special as a whole, we find that we are special in singularity. Each one of us is different.

    Do you ever wonder where your mind goes? Do you wonder why? Can you look down at your hands and pretend, instead of finding only the barely visable lines, that you're between the channels and craters, marking a flesh colored, undiscovered land?

    I do.

    The wind asks me to hear, so I listen. The ground asks me to look, and I see . The water asks me to touch, and I feel. Spirit asks me to cherish and care, so I LOVE.

    No. This is something you're either going to find completely bogus (which is fine because I honestly don't care about negativity) or gladly take into your heart.

    You might fancy me mad, and I might be. Mad as in crazy for everyone's information, not angry. But this is the wonderful thing about madmen and women. We see things in another light.

    I can give a color to every weekday, and a gender for every number.

    I can hold a conversation with a pole, or fill up a note book with the same sentence rewritten over and over.

    I can taste the seasons.

    I can see the energy orbs floating around us, unwilling to let go of the earth.

    What can you do? Everyone can do something. I can love unconditionally. I can bring a smile to a sad childs face. I can touch the tip of my tongue to the tip of my nose.

    I may not be able to do much, but at least it's something. Tell me, any way you want, what can you do? I'll give you gold if you tell me. It hold little importance to me anyhow, building up until I need to get rid of it somehow.

    So answer me, what do you listen for? What can you feel? Who do you love? Can you understand the whispering energy as it tickles your ear with it's airy breath?

    I can.

    Because I'm special as a singular.

    So drink in this winter with doe eyes and curious whiskers, a pocket full of paperclips and a pen in your mouth. You'd be surprised when you realize that they came in handy.