The world is so delicate in a spiritual way.
We are constantly fighting and preserving the right to be a
part of this world, lest we might face the benightedness of
death.

Why is that?

Everything is fragile.
Everything is vulnerable. Like a baby that cries.

Is everything everlasting?



Is everything real either?

Our senses can make the world a beautiful warm place or a
hateful cold one.
It's simple. Our senses makes the scenes.


So now it seems that the world sums up to a secret goal that
makes us Live, Breathe, Feel and Love.
But it's all an illusion, created by our spirit in order to
satisfied its hunger with those slightly human behaviors.
'Cause those are the inner ascensions of the spirit.

Apparently our spirits demand that. Eventually, their just
ethereal souls that locked up in material entities.  

They are motivate us by their celestial reasons.


It's all the mystery of death
and the deception of life.



It seems like the world is black and white.
If I could paint the world in many colors...