I looked at the windows side of Kaffee shop when waiting for my food, the meoment I feel the world is so amazing and beautiful. That moment I’m so grateful to tell myself I’m glad where I have travelled. I can call it a journey I have to travel. It was a journey, indeed. When I come back home, I read the poem The Journey wrote by Mary Oliver. I have been the fan of her for some time, but until today when I read her poem, I never feel so much connected. I knew poem is always connected to the soul, which is a gift for the human spiritual world. But today I deeply feel poem is the way of living, the live we for words.

One day you finally knew
what you had to do, and
began,
though the voices around you
kept shouting
their bad advice –
though the whole house
began to tremble
and you felt the old tug
at your ankles.
“Mend my life!”
each voice cried.
But you didn’t stop.
You knew what you had to
do,
though the wind pried
with its stiff fingers
at the very foundations,
though their melancholy
was terrible.
It was already late
enough, and a wild night,
and the road full of fallen
branches and stones.
But little by little,
as you left their voice behind,
the stars began to burn
through the sheets of clouds,
and there was a new voice
which you slowly
recognized as your own,
that kept you company
as you strode deeper and
deeper
into the world,
determined to do
the only thing you could do –
determined to save
the only life you could
save.

I have been feed with good words recently, be it the programming words, and goodreads. All I can wish is just let the good words stay with me, to continue the journey.