Shreds of a Soul

Episode 58

It comes to me every single night, bright as a divine light that shines from a crack in the firmament. However, it’s an infernal figure that reminds me I have not been whole for years, and so I shall never be again. If I am a mistake to mankind, I hope one makes a mistake and understands me. The words my mind dictates as my lips open gates to pour out my heart content are beyond comprehension. What could be stronger than an expression not yet created? Or maybe the expression I want to make is this one left behind in a yonder world where people had plenty of expressions. Is it purer to reveal man’s madness in words, or to reveal it like a beast does?

Suddenly, sleep is where I am most alive. All my vitality weighs as a shred of glass when I try to weigh it against the universe while on the edge of a cliff. Once I dreamt I was understood, and it felt like seeing the countenance divine. How could my senses be alive and my being is gone to oblivion at the same time? How could oblivion be as vast as the seas hanging above my head, where a whole being with its every expression can be lost? Is it my arrogance or my helplessness that is desperate to demonstrate I am still alive?

The feeling of living for something is just as good as the feeling of dying for something. Why can’t the answer lie in absurdity? We exist because we can’t choose otherwise. We die of our vulnerability, yet we keep denying it. We fight for immortality knowing it’s never there. We claim supremacy while we are the real and the newest parasites on the planet. Why am I wishing to be understood when the world itself is absurd? Why am I asked to feel when the whole universe is all about apathy? Everything and everyone is replaceable, every creed, every belief, doctrine, idea, or even countenance divine. Why should there be an answer for “being” if “being” itself is the answer? Why should everything make sense and fit in the books of philosophy and epistemology? Why am I condemned to reason? Could a scorpion help but being a scorpion? It's no merit, and no choice either.

Silence (The day I turned a deaf ear to revelation)

Episode 57

The day I turned a deaf ear to revelation

The most influential and important words in our lives started with silence. In silence, they held a stronger notion. Upon wording them, they lost their strongest features. Upon wording a notion created in silence, it's simplified and altered to a deformed form of the notion. For in words, we try to reach the surface of the ocean and be seen by those who won't hold a treasure as precious and dear as the one who forged every single gold figure of it. You never hold dear that you have not created and seen taking an aesthetic form after it has been but a dull figure. And what is meant to appeal to senses is but the shallow figure and not what the creator held in heart for his own creation. Once I read the writings if a madman. He said he was safe from being understood, for those who understand us enslave something in us. In silence is a shelter. In defining silence is nullification of its essence. Is not evolution of language but the strong proof of failure of spiritual connection? Or is it just the inevitable desire for being understood? And aren't doubts the strongest proof of a higher connection with our demons in a form of self annihilation? Or are they just the fear of rejection of one's demigod? 

Revelation to The Mute Prophet

Episode 56

He was summer, I was winter. There has always been a season between us. But I have always looked through the heart of spring to see him. He was sheltering from burning heat of the sun in shades of his solitude. I was sheltering from merciless winds of winter in a cave, also in solitude. His life was my revelation, yet I felt so invisible behind his back. When I awoke on another deserted side, I have known he looked in the heart of bare trees of autumn to see me. However, I was only a faint image and not a revelation. I finally got to land on his window as part of my condemnation. Asking of him to pet was of no use. All my croaking meant nothing but a malicious noise. Croaking was my only way to tell him I was the faint spirit of winter he saw behind his back. In my life he was my distant revelation. In my death he became my torture. In my awakening, the purest of revelation came the mute prophet that I am and said it was time to bid my summer farewell. And hence, it came to an end.

Shroud of false

"Shroud Of False"

We are just a moment in time
A blink of an eye
A dream for the blind
Visions from a dying brain
I hope you don't understand

ONE

Episode 55

ONE

The feeling of  a mountain between a green meadow and a rain shadow desert. Neither here nor there. One day I landed on one of them. It was the breeze that whispered into my ears what my eyes have denied in blindness. The feeling I have got on both wings of mine. The cradle and the grave. T'is but a fine line between them. Was this where fraternity grew between myself and my demons? Nay, t'is merely the fragile and inexplicable moment at which my petty self overlooked both sides of the mountain range I am on. I was finally exposed to mortality. I was exposed to how fragile and insignificant myself was and finally I realized I am a trifle bit close to any possible end. I was overlooking the green meadow of ignorance, while unbeknownst to myself grew the rain shadow desert where the crowds ceased to exist. The pilgrimage started to the peak when the ascent was inevitable to the shrine where one can genuinely be one. Growing gnomic is not unusual. Individualism draws the plot of a play much like the eternally existential scene of a lost soul quoting "to be, or not to be; that is the question". Much like diabolical hallucinations without surcease. Has a demon even been into virtue? Only common mind would retort "No". Neither the rain shadow desert was my abyss nor the green meadow was my canopy. Whoever said an essence must be of a patriotic nature must have denied being of all beings. T'is what keeps one from killing themselves in despair that they may call their essence. The voices in one's head bring forth the end of stillness of the mind in visions to the mind's eye, truthful and divine, yet foretold naught by prophets and holy men.