Great art, they say, is not created over a full belly.
Why is it so, that the most oft sought: contentment at heart, becomes the greatest hindrance one faces while pursuing excellence? Is satisfaction really that overrated? Is it being placid? Or languid?
How does one make a pick?
You know, I have been wondering this for some while.
I wanted to have that filled heart, that satiated sense of serenity which the ease of being in one's own skin brings with it ... AND I wanted to be that restless soul with an unwavering spark of passionate creativity.
Lately, I have realized that the two are mutually exclusive!
No chance of convergence!
The sole route of an existence that justifies itself is maybe the same as of those in whose chest the agony of pierced heart ferments to the potion of bliss!