Just thinking ....
 
Well ... long, long ago there was this Irish artist who thought the world was his ... and for a while the world was his.
He carried it around in his head like a map with no edges, believing there was not a road he could not walk, a story he could not tell, or a dream he could not chase. He was young enough to think time would wait for him and foolish enough to believe that talent alone could open every door ... even the door behind the Iron Curtain.
And maybe that is the privilege of youth ... to stand in the middle of an ordinary day and feel, with all your heart, that the whole world belongs to you. Or maybe it was just being Irish.
Then the years came along, as years have a habit of doing, and they taught him something else. Youth and age are not the same thing.
The world was never his to own. It belongs to people like you.
It was only ever his to wander through ... to marvel at ... to borrow for a little while ... and, if he was fortunate, to leave behind a few stories proving that he had once passed this way. Maybe some woman in some far-off land would say ... I know this time, but I know the time I was in, and I knew DAF, the man who thought the world his.

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