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    #46 Feigned feelings

    feigned feelings lead to forced forging
    of a bond, brittle, easily broken

    but when i learn to listen
    to the winds whirling within
    stop seeing them as a sin

    when i hold them back no more
    forceful feelings finally roar
    revealing a hidden song
    sung secretly for so long

    my true self set free
    softly I breathe
    my melody into your mind
    feelings mingle, sometimes grind
    leaving the shyness far behind

    and hearing our songs entwined
    I am no longer blind
    to the insight
    that we’ve been singing the same song
    of a wordless world where we all belong

    at last I feel strong
    for we were always one
    blessed by a bond
    that can’t be undone

    Lukas Van Vyve
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    #100 There are by-products. And then there’s what matters.

    The moment you stop doing things for what they can give you, and start doing things for who you become through doing them, is the moment you get everything you ever wanted.

    Lukas Van Vyve

    I don’t write a blog post every day just to have a pile of posts on the blog.

    I write because writing is what makes me a writer. And I enjoy being a writer very much.

    The blog posts are but a byproduct. Pleasant. But a byproduct.


    I don’t practice Stream Of Consciousness journaling every day to write beautiful prose, poems or have amazing insights.

    I do it because it calms the mind. Because my life is better with it than without.

    And because doing something for 700 days straight shows me that I, too, am becoming a disciplined person. And I enjoy being a disciplined person very much.

    The occasional insights are but a byproduct. Pleasant. But a byproduct.


    I don’t practice the guitar so I can show the world how well I play.

    I play because it’s fun to practice something hard and feel a sense of improvement.

    And because practicing the guitar makes me a musician. And I enjoy being a musician very much.

    Being able to play a beautiful piece is just a by-product. Pleasant. But a byproduct.


    There are by-products. And then there’s what matters.

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    #99 Why bother to journal?

    Stream Of Consciousness writing isn’t about what you write. It’s about the very fact that you’re writing.

    Nobody cares about the words on the pages. Nobody will read them anyway. Neither should you.

    This is not a novel. This is not a love song. This is not a poem. This is but an externalization of your mind’s chatter. Ugly, pretty, insightful, bland. It doesn’t matter.

    There’s no great work. Nor is there any bad work. No high standards, no judgment. Nothing but what flows out of your mind.

    So if none of it matters… why bother to write Stream of Consciousness?

    Because it forces you to slow down.

    Because it forces you to pay attention to what’s on your mind.

    Because it forces you to listen to the way you talk to yourself.

    Because it helps you get all the overwhelming thoughts and worries out of your system.

    Because it helps you gain clarity.

    And because sometimes, insights emerge. Not necessarily in the words on the page. But due to the fact that you’re writing the words on the page.

    Stream Of Consciousness journaling is writing. Venting. Self-therapy. Problem-solving. Meditation. Goal-setting. Creative liberation. And anything else you want it to be.

    Because you have all of that in you already – if only you’d re-learn to listen.

    And listening to yourself, it turns out, is much easier when you put it all on the page.

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    #290 Your unique contribution

    What do you see that others don’t even notice?

    What do you feel that others don’t even seem to care about?

    What do you like to do that most others never even entertain?

    What do you write about that most others haven’t even considered?

    And instead of seeing such differences as a societal warning sign, discouraging you from pursuing it…

    Can you see them as an encouraging sign of unique contributions you’re about to make?

    Embrace your individuality.

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