#inspirationonal

The Holstee Manifesto: Lifecycle Video

Europa (Earth's Cry Heaven's Smile) by Carlos Santana

Friedrich Nietzsche

Street Stone by Léo Caillard

It is night: now all fountains speak more loudly. And my soul too is a fountain. It is night: only now all the songs of the lovers awaken. And my soul too is the song of a lover. An unstilled, an unstillable something is in me; it wants to be heard. A craving for love is in me, which itself speaks the language of love. I am light; oh that I were night! But this is my loneliness, that I am girded by light. Oh that I were dark and nocturnal! How I would suck at the breasts of light! And even you I would bless, you little twinkling stars and glowworms up there! – And be blissful for your gift of light. But I live inmy own light, I drink back intomyself the flames that break out of me. I do not the know the happiness of receiving; and often I dreamed that stealing must be more blessed than receiving. This is my poverty, that my hand never rests from bestowing; this is my envy, that I see waiting eyes and the illuminated nights of longing. Oh misery of all bestowers! Oh darkening of my sun! Oh craving to crave! Oh ravenous hunger in satiety! They receive from me, but do I still touch their souls? There is a cleft between giving and receiving; and the closest cleft is the last to be bridged. A hunger grows out of my beauty; I wish to harm those for whom I shine, I wish to rob those on whom I have bestowed: – thus I hunger for malice. Withdrawing my hand when a hand already reaches for it; hesitating like the waterfall that hesitates even while plunging – thus I hunger for malice. My fullness plots such vengeance; such trickery gushes from my loneliness. My happiness in bestowing died in bestowing, my virtue wearied of itself in its superabundance! For one who always bestows, the danger is loss of shame; whoever dispenses always has calloused hands and heart from sheer dispensing. My eye no longer wells up at the shame of those who beg; my hand became too hard for the trembling of filled hands. Where have the tears of my eye and the down of my heart gone? Oh loneliness of all bestowers! Oh muteness of all who shine! Many suns revolve in desolate space. To everything that is dark they speak with their light – to me they are mute. Oh this is the enmity of light toward that which shines; mercilessly it goes its orbit. Unjust in its deepest heart toward that which shines: cold toward suns – thus every sun goes. Like a storm the suns fly their orbit, that is their motion. They follow their inexorable will; that is their coldness. Ohit is you only, you dark ones, you nocturnal ones, who create warmth out of that which shines!Ohit is you only who drink milk and refreshment from the udders of light! Alas, ice surrounds me, my hand burns itself on iciness! Alas, there is thirst in me that yearns for your thirst! It is night: alas that I must be light! And thirst for the nocturnal! And loneliness! It is night: now my longing breaks out of me like a well – I long to speak. It is night: now all fountains speak more loudly. And my soul too is a fountain. It is night: only now all the songs of the lovers awaken. And my soul too is the song of a lover. Thus sang Zarathustra.

Carlos Fuentes

Ralph Waldo Emerson