I am waking up with a sense of sensuality running wild inside my body. The white sheets in my bed suddenly feel like clouds and the light from the window makes the air come alive. I can see little sparks of dust flying around in here. How can dust be so beautiful? But I’m not surprised. Beauty is always hiding in the most unexpected places. In the cracks of reality. Where the real is almost too real, like a fantasy. Or where the real has never been seen before. Both can be found in the depths of the ocean. In the microcosmic worlds inside a piece of dust. In the surreal theories of philosophy. In the electric pathways of the brain. And inside other people’s hearts. The forgotten hearts. The broken ones. The withering hearts. Fading hearts. Burning hearts. Screaming. Dancing hearts. Dying ones. There is always beauty to a heart.

It’s a tragedy when a heart is closed. Sealed with barb wire. Poisoned with anger. And toxic hate. Full of black holes and dark matter. The beauty is still there, but trapped in the complicated defence systems or in the denial of the true nature of the human heart. The most beautiful heart is the open heart, hungry but veiled with fear – waiting for the right person to notice it, unveil it, expose it and then to be swallowed up inside it. Like it’s a passage to a whole new world. Red landscapes and skies of fire. Delicate blood roots touching you like curious tentacles. Tickling. Teasing. Rivers which takes you deeper within. Flowing like the sensations of a kiss. Wet. Warm. Somehow glowing. It takes you to the heart of the heart. The beating core. Where the rhythm of life is the true law of attraction. You are drawn in, without making any resistance. Whatsoever. Hypnotised. Every beat creates a spell. A rush. And you surrender. Completely. All the way. Inside. And it just keeps beating.

And beating.