a stranger called familiar

the rising sun tickles my waking skin,

tired eyes are slowly opened by piercing gold-crusted rays with a soft filling of fiery red,

clouds have escaped those thousand arms lighting up the land,

and with a look to my right i'm confronted with more than one beauty.

as i peek outside the frosty airplane window to admire the colours and contours of God's great planet
the past catches up with me faster than the stuttered beats of my heart.

as i peek outside that frosty window, a stranger called familiar stares straight into my eyes.

and that stranger can see into my heart.

and that stranger knows everything there is to know about me.

He offers me a glimpse at a not-so-distant past.

the three islands of Malta lie proudly asleep, tucked into the humble royalty of the Mediterranean Sea.

the pillows of memory surround them.

when you travel and settle, and travel and settle, you forget your starting point.

sooner or later you must come to the realisation that God has created with a purpose.

He knows it.

you may know it.

He knows what it is.

you may be searching for it.

if you found it, then you are probably one of the fortunate few who wake up with a drive to make the world a better place.

or a worse place.

the corrupted soul knows no bounds.

yet, what happens when you return to the starting point.

like Theseus returning to the beginning of the labyrinth, without having slain the Minotaur.

perhaps one isn't ready to face the evil beast just yet.

perhaps there is always more to learn and what you encountered on your way were tiny Minotaurs.

you just didn't see them.

that's how small they were.

minute minotaurs.

nonetheless, you are full of a raw energy that wishes to be released.

the wild has challenged you to make your move.

a stranger called familiar knocks on the door of your heart's desire.

he walks into the chamber of dreams.

like a library stacked with purposes and passions.

he lights a match and sets the whole room on fire.

and you

you cannot stop him.

instead, you scramble to retain some of the pieces

some of the wishes you engrained on the highest shelves.

familiarity can become a very scary monster and force you to go back home for more ammunition.

the worst part is to return home a lone soldier without his gun

without his pride,

without a cause.

however, the truth dawns on you the most when you stand naked before that stranger.

bare skin exposed, you realise that the wounds are real and you received them from fighting for something greater than yourself.

you realise that people want change (for the better!)

you realise that it's not too late for a revolution

you realise that the labyrinth does not disappear and you can go back inside.

and most importantly, you realise that a tiny stone can set off a massive avalanche.

a tiny revolution is still better than no revolution at all.