Peace be unto you;
Primordial season to fall into a dream true
Hands a plenty
Scarred for the last… many awaken to come
It is of the void
They come from
Are all you seek
Ghouls and sheep
You are the weak
Tools are heavy in your mind
Gluttony causes you blind
Lust for knowledge, it is so weak
You fall into the pits of the sick ones
You are sick with poisoned, lusted, truth
That you cannot see past its own shelf of divine resemblance
Sadness decays a heavy heart
Heavy she is, but not so heavy to part
Parted cloth upon the wound
Injured clouds the humbled brood
you are delusion, inside my heart growing
a poisonous thing, a murderous flowing
cold and ghostlike, haunting my conception
perception crying, deception horrifying
i give my warmth to the dead
is it me whose cursed, or is it in my head
the shadows pay their visit
telling me i was complicit; all but one
who instead is benevolence incarnate
brightly resonate, in darkness i suffocate
another thread i eliminate before its too late
such is fate.
It guides you between the light. Patterns glow and become disillusioned; they break away to become all that is simply Within. To become One with the Within is to experience that which is limitless – it can bring you into anything and everything – a guiding sense just as they are all connected, through a guiding echo that brings the others to life, embedded in our existence – in all existence. The music within the Divine reach, awakening, bringing each other aide of ours to life, is one of the most essential tools of our existence.
My mind is muddied and has been for awhile now. Confusion has not become just a state of mind for me, rather, a haunting ghost; one that looms over my consciousness constantly. Within the world of dreams, I am free without the leeching demons and striking of other forces, for what is given to me there should be given to me in wake – a world where my perception has not yet been fought for and won over. I am left to be alone even in the presence of the lonely. To bring these words to life – all of these words – is a sacrifice I must make for the sake of the energy they carry. Miscommunication. Confusion. Frustration. I suppose I should start getting comfortable with the shift of vision I have been given, as it may offer me a break, and is a new trial I may gain insight from.
The temporary state of those within the confined space of their own mind open up their consciousness to what they see in others as less than substantial. Although a temporary affliction can cause this new perception, one returns to the rest, having gained a new pair of eyes, and losing pieces of themselves that they must return to get back; the pieces that cultivate and shift in the eyes of absence. One looks at a whole as now hollow, and hollow as whole – though in this sense, whole does not mean more divine, rather, is a neutral word used to attempt to describe a way in which the view considers.
When one loses the pieces, they find others to fill their place until returning, attempting to search for their own, but are left in a consistent state of trade. One does not leave, but they also do not stay. Eyes that once cried for scraped hands now cry for hollow skies. Dreams became a movie; nightmares were always in wake. A soul never skims, only places itself within undiscovered frameworks. Leading it was nothing, for nothing can lead – and yet what nothing finds is the infinite everything. Two, three, seven, six – it matters not, for matter destroys these fragments that create one’s knowledge of its own existence – a paradox disguised as reality.
A return without stay is incomprehensible, yet it is where we are stuck; a limbo that one cannot ever receive, for receiving requires strength of purity that is unattainable by most, and for most, they are cursed to the isles, but blessed with the waves. You ride the wave, make a ripple effect, or you can play in the sand. Those that swim from the isles back to land, who return, are those that define the ripple. They are its essence, and what it stands for. The ripple paces the way for what is in of itself. Contribution is masked as futile. No more waiting.
the scribbles on the wall
nibbles runs across the floor
you were tired of it; shapes
wanted to think, wanted to stop thinking
to close your eyes, but the clock kept ticking
another night passes, no one knows
that you turned back time
and the clock stopped on eight
now i sit here, wishing to see what you did
wishing you hadn’t had so much power
clock faces the wall; i don’t want to see time
eyes shaking; ears occupied
you cannot be forgotten now
you have joined my ghosts
Most have it; more lose it: potential. To become aware of one’s own potential is to put oneself through a trial of sacrifice. If one so wishes to sacrifice themselves, to themselves, one now has experienced the foresight of limitless potential. Although, once this sacrifice is made, and ‘new sight’ has been gained, it must be tended to like a garden; for if left untended – potentiality is lost. Potential is the seed, water, the sacrifice, and growth, the truth.
Suffering and anguish are the sole benefactors to nurturing truth; and later, peace and harmony, as the period of rest. Much like summer and winter, they behave in cycles. Give yourself up to become a host of truth’s potential. Wasted potential is worse than none at all; it is the ultimate death.
Destruction of the individual is encouraged and inescapable. The more detached one becomes from oneself, the more susceptible one is to what will inevitably destroy them. Indulgence is the devil and we devour his evil perennially. Now more than ever, we are vulnerable to the corruption of will brought forth by the plague and filth of these drifter demons. It is rare that you will make a connection with an unsold soul. One must break free from the venomous spell they are enchanted by. The paradise that once flourished in an abiding mind is now scorched rubble waiting to be touched by flesh.
Remove the conviction that you are imprisoned in.
Over the last few months I had thought it in my best interest to attempt to assimilate myself into what is current. I have barely scratched the surface learning about others and their truths, and as I learn more, I find merit within these seemingly toxic ideologies that are against what is known as the standard modernity. I have moments where I believe there is no point in choosing or moments where I wish to simply stop experimenting breaking my limits, but my goal in doing so is so that I can strengthen my beliefs and challenge the truths I have already acquired. Indulging in this kind of thing can be intoxicating, but more so, mind numbing. I have been becoming so consumed within this new way of living that I have been losing insight as well as what I once stood by and believed.
I know what I have to do and who I am, yet I still feel as though I have to behave outside of this in order to comprehend who is around me and experience simple enjoyment. I have been embracing a masquerade that consumes my every passing thought. I can experiment with these connections, but they will never be real, and this is something I must accept.
I wrote the best while at my worst, and I return now to follow up with something new. Is this new thing going to be better than my current best? It will not compare, because I am no longer where I once was, and in order to create something wonderful and with meaning, I would have to take steps backwards and become something I do not desire to become once again. Constantly battling for perspective, one nowhere near the same as the last, but falling empty handed. Long term goals in place, my mind is open for many possibilities even if they may fall short. The difference between then and now is that I decided I will have an attempt at something very few have achieved, and if I then do not achieve, I will lest be a part of it. Every day has been consistent in that it is unchanging and no new thoughts have crossed my conscious.
It could be that I am on medication, or perhaps I am feeding into the brainwashing of today’s entertainment, or perhaps it is both. Regardless, it has taken a whole month to write this, simply because any time I felt to begin, I grew tired, and sleep has taken over my true self. Creativity has washed itself down the drain in the face of normalcy. No longer do I ponder on the things worth wondering about, no longer do I take a moment to try and diversify my thought patterns, or create a new idea. Only am I stuck with the last thing I decided to set forth to do. I can feel myself slowly slipping away from who I am. I am becoming a separate entity than who I once was. I am stationary.
All directions I am surrounded in. Myself I am unaware. Confusion unsettles me, yet this is a repeating consciousness. In Divinity we are devoid. In darkness we avoid. We repeat to be repeated. A mirror we behave in out of distrust. Structure inescapable but within reach just as any prison we are born into. Nature – can it be broken? How can we think alone? Have an original thought. Consume nothing. Do not be influenced. It is too late. You cannot erase everything. You cannot erase existence. You cannot rewrite an experience. To live, to experience, to alter, to understand all that is disorganized. A need for us to categorize and create systems of understanding – we must, but we cannot. Why can I not think outside of brain chemistry? Can I will myself away from an altering substance if we can so willingly manifest more than reason into existence? Can this be so easily done as it is not with what we accept? How can we accept without questioning? How can we not simply re-explore the explored, not just the unexplored?
We have said something similar – are we not the same? We display differences, but are we so different? We are mimics of a set of footprints. It never ends. We will end but we will also never end. Thoughts travel great distances. Every time I think in my awakened state, something pushes me back. Be compliant. Be docile. Don’t think too hard or you will begin to see our fallacies and our existence to destroy. You may escape.