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.
