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Sound In Its Purest Formlessness Is Probably The Single Most Spiritual Expression Of The Divine, The Divine That We Will Never Be Able To Grasp With Our Sensory Disabilities

from I Must Never Decide Between Remaining True To Myself Or Letting Go by Wings Of An Angel

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Wings Of An Angel Israel

My own identity feels like a construct, a collection of roles and personas worn like so many masks. Who am I, really?

Perhaps in the end, we are all just characters in someone else's novel, puppets dancing on strings we cannot see.
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