billeeswords

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notre beau ciel

the beautiful sky. endless, endless , boundless and bright with the magic of a million stars. the possibilties of each painted stroke of light and colours of wonder. where do you believe the sky is most beautiful?

the high skies of Kabul, where the stars shimmer without faultering? or the dawn of the country side village of Saint-Cirq-Lopopie? maybe Kaiua at dusk, where the rasys of last light radiate throughout the dark sky before illuminating it radiantly? before exposing the beauty the dark had hidden? is the sky more beautiful in the long night sky of Kugluktuk, eternal, raw and open? oh, our beautiful sky. one of wisdom carried through time and the endless gift of its capturing awe. and yet, still, it cannot be said where it is most beautiful?

perhaps it is because unlike us, our sky does not discriminate. it gifts us with beauties and perfections, so that no one person can say that the sky does not capture a piece of their soul, strumming a cord that otherwise cannot be heard, carrying with it a lingering mystery. only its presence and perception can provide an answer to it. oh, the sky. the belle of the mortals, for it is one thing that blesses all.

Le ciel est le seul refuge

-billee jay

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river

The endless current of power that grapples with danger and carries to pits of uncertainty.

There's a branch - one that can be held,

tight but not too tight. Safety, a safety binding to a steady , balanced land -

and it breaks. current sweeps away, with strength and anger, with pain and sorrow that fills the mouth, the throat, the eyes, the nostrils

the lungs.

breath is not longer an option. Suffocation - like a sharp bruning of a grieving flame, attached to a heavy heated rod piercing through the heart that was still beating, yet had stopped fighting for long enough to become a target, like a prey waiting patiently for the predator.

Time stops, then it doesn't, because it remembers that a river doesn't stop.

There's a current ripping from the ground and carrying to a branch, sharp

that can be held safely , binding to steady land and

pierced the eye with its tip and

the current sweeps under . Time stops

then again remember that it cannot because the river's current grapples endlessly

-billy jay

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"May we stop seeing ourselves through the eyes of people that never saw us."

-Shane Steele

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I look for you everywhere in crowded rooms on quiet streets in the spaces where we once stood together

I search your face in every stranger’s eyes listen for your voice in the static of the world hoping to find just a trace of you in places you should still be

but you won't be

March 28, 1913 Letters to Felice by Franz Kafka First published : 1973

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how could you turn away like that? But I did, I still held on.

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"People will wound you, not because you are weak, but because they cannot see the depth of your soul. and though the pain may carve deep, it is not the scar that defines you. it is the wisdom you find in the silence of healing. you are more than what is taken from you. you are the strength that is made when you let go of the weight, choose to rise, knowing your worth is untouchable."

-billee jay

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lost

wandering down a path

a path— one unbeknownst to you —

has no end.

or perhaps it does.. just beyond the bend..

but you are not walking towards it.

if not to the end,

then where are you going?

through the unkind woods, trees looming

watching,

through night that does not care ,

that does not wait

endless , unsympathetic.

the air is crisp—

cold in a way that almost seems personal.

trails are treacherous

unwelcoming , leading nowhere in particular.

the destination?

remote. unknown.

maybe

it was never

meant to be found.

the path is not lost

but you are.

oh, how unfeeling the world must be to watch you dissapear into its shadows, no hesitation

no remorse.

to let you sink to the spaces no one seems to look.

but tell me

was it the world, so indifferent

that lost you?

Or was it You,

the one with so little

and yet

everything to lose?

among jagged ends

and harsh truths

it was you who drifted —

not into the woods

but into yourself

mind, unraveling quiet spirals

labyrinths , only lead you deeper

for to be Lost ,

is not a tragedy bestowed upon You

but a slow , quiet undoing—

so soft, subtle , that by the time you notice -

it is no longer a fate to escape;

but a question with no answer

and yet

what a lovely question it is

— billee jay

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"The only impossible journey is the one you never begin."

– Tony Robbins

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"Life is what happens when you're busy making other plans."

– John Lennon

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"The universe is made of stories, not atoms."

– Muriel Rukeyser

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real people don't exist

Real people don't exist here.

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the executioner wears a mask but so too does the one who falls we live between each fleeting task bound by the silence that it calls

Virginia Woolf

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January 20, 2025. By Jacob Hubertus. Instagram | Tumblr

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Dans les brumes enneigées . . .

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Don't cry because it's over , smile because it happened.

-Dr. Seuss

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nihilsm paradox

Life is a waste of time.

and a masterpiece

an unpainted canvas , broken between purpose and absurdity . we spend our days asking whether we are here to create , or whether we are simply the creation , waiting to be understood by a world too distracted to listen . is existence a symphony we play , or the silence before the first note is struck ? we breathe , we move , we survive , believing we are walking a path, when perhaps we are the path itself ,

and in that still , unsettling truth, we ask: nihilism tells us life is meaningless —

but isn’t that, in itself, a meaning we create ? we endure , we exist, but does that mean we are truly living ? maybe survival is all we are meant to do , or maybe it is the only thing we’ll ever accomplish . the truth is ,

nothing is certain. we may already be finished, or perhaps we’re just beginning.

the choice is yours

we continue because we have no other option , or maybe because , in the end , that’s the only thing that truly matters :

that we keep going , knowing full well that meaning may be something we find , something we create , with every breath, fleeting moment .

you could

let your life be dictated by the void? choose to fill it?

-billee jay

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because they know that no one else can fill the space you’re meant to.

“Someone somewhere is searching for you in every person they meet.”

— Unknown