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When you tumble, when you float,

consumed by waves, rinsed off all past.

Shaped by tides, carried for miles and miles and miles, a core deeply uprooted from all soil,

unthinkable where the origin of this lays.

All I see is driftwood,

let yourself be washed ashore, only to be consumed again, and carried somewhere else.

When you stumble, when you fall,

and you look at your wounds,

but you can't tell them apart.

Which is the most recent one?

What is wounds, what is scars, what is bones? What is your skin, or what is just you?

Grown in one place and piece, but all marks washed away.

Grown in one place and piece, but all marks washed away.

Burnt from sand and salt and sun, but yet the same grown wretch.

„Something we generally seek is happiness. But for decades more and more people are becoming lonely or lose themselves. Research has shown that resilient people tend to be happier than the average person; better relationships, higher life satisfaction, less hopelessness, less anxiety and depression. The ability of self healing and coping with

personal crisis is getting more and more important, especially in our society, driven by

performance and appearance. I assume we all want to be happy. So, it seems there is hope for people that are resilient. But what does that mean to the rest of us?“