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Goglie Sr.

Life is beautiful

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Good day!

Life is beautiful. It is so placid and serene. At times of stillness, something inside is filling up and flowing with superabundance, like a butterfly’s serious quest on a leaf blade: only stillness. When a hand is stretched trying to arrest it, there it goes flying and flying and flying up, fainting and painting a vacuity. Why is that stillness not persistent?

What’s that nagging inside in spite of a contented life?

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