I was told from a young age that God exists. And I believed. One might even say I was indoctrinated.

You were told from a young age that God does not exist. And you believed in Nietzsche’s proclamations. One might even say you were indoctrinated.

Like it or not, we are not so different, you and I. We all adhere to a set of beliefs, each unique, each our own. I choose to believe in something more, and that gives me hope. You choose to believe in nothing. Tell me, what does nothing give you? I’m not trying to preach, to save you, to make you agree with me, for I certainly have more questions than answers, and I gave up on evangelism long ago. I’m simply asking you to respect my beliefs, even if you can’t understand them, or me, and in exchange, I will endeavor to grant you the same courtesy.

I believe in Truth beyond that which we can comprehend, and by that Truth, God exists - even if just in my mind – there is no reasoning, there is no arguing about who’s right and who’s wrong, there are no facts, only interpretations.

We won’t know until we know, and that is enough for me.

a few sketches from Paris -

In the morning, when the sun breaks from the horizon and paints the sky with purples and pinks, briefly, Scotland is magic. The old gods whisper their true names, memories awaken, like tiny fires, always burning, like a stillness that never sleeps, like secrets kept. Somewhere, or maybe nowhere at all, a nymph giggles at earthly eyes that see only the greys of human existence, as hers reflect the sky.

I’m afraid that things will never seem this beautiful again.

Another video from tour, this one is super random though:

Some Extra Bits from Mitch Wells on Vimeo.

My friends made this video when they came to visit me in Paris. We rode bikes around the city and I showed them the sites. the end is funny.

centre pompidou

le voyeur

Dali

Kandinsky is one of my absolute favourites, the colors he evokes always make me smile, and his lines too, just wish the afternoon shadows weren't so bad

The girls in Brisbane wear little to nothing to cover their insecurities. Their bare skin aches and cries out for acceptance. Am I beautiful? Am I good enough? If you have to ask with your breasts and thighs, then no.

The girls in Queenstown are not from Queenstown, but from just about everywhere else, they drink too much to make up for their lack of substance; they travel too much to make up for their lack of personality; they moved here for adventures but find only the same problems as back home. (But they are quite nice at least, and can one ever travel too much anyway, really?)

The girls in Auckland are quiet, reserved. They are self aware and beautiful. They are a mystery to me.

The girls in Abu Dhabi are covered from head to toe, yet their beauty still permeates their black robes. Their figures shout out from beneath like doves, ready, waiting to be released. Their hips sing me a song of strength, of power. They lie in wait of triumph.

The girls in Milan, you can recognize by their heels, 6 inches, at least. Glamazons, every one. Can you fly from Abu Dhabi to Milan in six-inch heels while pushing a stroller and still look good? Still look like the baby in your arms couldn’t have possibly been in your belly 8 months ago? If you’re from Milan you can, and you can hush the child with the grace of the Madonna without even breaking a sweat.

The girls in Paris are always too young, and always too old. Their cheeks are sunken in from the cigarettes. Their hair is a mess. They wear no makeup except for their red lips, as if to say Je m’en fou. They are always dressed impeccably, understated, but perfect. They unashamedly look down on me as we ride the Metro together but apart. Their eyes say they are better than me, and maybe they are.

Maybe they all are.

.........It's a funny thing, waking up a million miles away...................................................

.........................................waking up somewhere the past is a million years behind you.

.............................................................somewhere you are l’etranger..................................

..........................................................................and you can be whomever you want...........

..................................................................................you can even be yourself.......................

.............................................................

Here there is only quiet............................................................................................................

.................................................... Here there is only solitude..................................................

............................................................................................................ Here there is only me...

.............................................................

Alone, there are no one else's expectations to disappoint.................................................

............Alone, there are no one else's problems to fix..........................................................

.......................................................Alone, here, I can fix myself.............................................

.............................................................................I can find my own expectations.................

....I left all my tears behind in Australia.................................................................................

...............littering the streets....like Gretel’s crumbs....leading me here.............................

.....but I will not follow them back home...............................................................................

............I need to rediscover my strength........to be a better me...........................................

Yesterday, someone thought they recognized me on the street........................................

............................................................................................“Jane?”...........................................

.....but, no.............................. sorry............................it’s me...............just me.........................

.........It’s funny how being a million miles away, you can feel at home...........................

.........It’s funny how getting lost, you can discover you...............just you........................

Racist things in Australia part 1

not sure if that last one's racist or just weird...

On the Road part deux

On the Road

Hobbiton

Auckland at night

Christchurch

This was the first stop on my New Zealand trip.

The destruction was worse than I had realized. Keep them in your prayers.

I think 'Kia Kaha' is Mauri for 'stay strong'