what seething winds shatter this burnt heartfelt menace of liquor that curls the intestines... making you arch forward, in pain, aching inside

There is no meaning to this, yet it is interesting to read. Why?

...

I think humans are hardwired to attach meaning to things; to find meaning everywhere.

Feeling words

Can we measure understanding?
It's one thing to memorize a formula or quote or poem; it's entirely another to internalize it, to feel it, and to act habitually – unthinkingly – based on those principles you feel deep down.

"If you are depressed you are living in the past.
If you are anxious you are living in the future.
If you are at peace you are living in the present."

"You are the music while the music lasts."

These are ideas I feel that I have internalized and am able to apply appropriately to my state of mind – and yet, others I know who are aware of these principles, these simple words, cannot feel the same overflowing happiness inside me. I wish I could radiate the depth of what I feel so they could experience this endless well of joy, calm, peace...

"To the mind that is still, the whole universe surrenders."

If – by Rudyard Kipling

If you can keep your head when all about you   

    Are losing theirs and blaming it on you,   

If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you,

    But make allowance for their doubting too;   

If you can wait and not be tired by waiting,

    Or being lied about, don’t deal in lies,

Or being hated, don’t give way to hating,

    And yet don’t look too good, nor talk too wise:

If you can dream—and not make dreams your master;   

    If you can think—and not make thoughts your aim;   

If you can meet with Triumph and Disaster

    And treat those two impostors just the same;   

If you can bear to hear the truth you’ve spoken

    Twisted by knaves to make a trap for fools,

Or watch the things you gave your life to, broken,

    And stoop and build ’em up with worn-out tools:

If you can make one heap of all your winnings

    And risk it on one turn of pitch-and-toss,

And lose, and start again at your beginnings

    And never breathe a word about your loss;

If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew

    To serve your turn long after they are gone,   

And so hold on when there is nothing in you

    Except the Will which says to them: ‘Hold on!’

If you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue,   

    Or walk with Kings—nor lose the common touch,

If neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you,

    If all men count with you, but none too much;

If you can fill the unforgiving minute

    With sixty seconds’ worth of distance run,   

Yours is the Earth and everything that’s in it,   

    And—which is more—you’ll be a Man, my son!

– A poem by Rudyard Kipling