The world is like a land of a thousand roads and a thousand faces,
despite which it can be nameless and roving it aimless –
so tell me how is the Earth endowed with a face,
how do our steps leave a meaningful mark on it?
You can say, I know you world even though you are unknown...
for you need not see a road to know there is one:
The road will appear the moment you step upon it.
There is no shepherd but you,
standing before endless horizons of worlds,
and you feel that it is obscurantism to be bound and suffer silently,
and you know that beauty is formless,
and that your empty hands are but self-deceit.
Even if the world is no bed of roses,
it is not devoid of hope –
which unfolds in immense spheres,
wherein there is no power to demarcate them –,
that besides cesspits there exists beauty in it.
You, standing in front of a canvas with a paintbrush in your hand,
spread fanciful threads within star clusters,
and there is a sun burning in one of your palms and a moon bathing in another;
you were borne by Infinity, so you paint light like a child,
for you know that, although you will not survive it here, your creation will still prevail...
You feel that clinging to that which is from without is tying you down,
that you had better let be that which is meant to be –
that is is advisable to give space to and allow growth of that which is to grow,
and dive into your own depths...
Although you cannot avoid dark waters
or the storm that you carry within –
you cannot escape from yourself or the world itself –,
you must not extinguish the light shining far off.
Peacify yourself, knowing that
even a loss can be liberating,
the act of breaking away can be a magnet,
for that which often binds you is a conjecture –
bulwarks of the mind disquieted by immeasurability...
It is no mistake to see more,
it is no mistake to go further,
it is no mistake to delve deeper.
You stand on the threshold of a new world that is the land of a thousand roads...
and it is wise to give it a face, to give meaning to your steps in it–
or else hell is cold and cold is hell.
This is not the end of the story – it is but one closed chapter.
Nothing concludes with an ending – all is just a continuous transformation.
The Land of a Thousand Roads © Ladanseuse
English translation "Krajina tisíců cest"
Undated original edited & published on 30. 3. 2022
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