Here we are, laid bare at the precipice of destiny, a vast chasm of change and uncertainty awaits us with only the promise of dissonance to comfort our reality. The only truth we have to hold onto is the certainty that there will be transformation.
Until the moment the die is cast, we experience a ubiquitous sensation, utter and unyielding dread for the coming moment, whether odds are in your favour or not. The faculties of our being quake with an impending uncertainty that will soon become the accepted reality, the surrender of your promises as the doors of chance buckle and give way.
In moments of crushing and humiliating defeat, a serenity is awarded, release from duty in that your efforts, having been destroyed you are rendered pure again, that is to say that when you have nothing left, anything you attain soon thereafter become the riches of the world again. A perpetual poetry of having and losing, taking and giving, wanting and refusing, tumble you around with impunity.
Struggle it seems, is the resounding war cry of the conscious observer an ever reaching ladder as such that a vertigo may take hold of you, in that the only true freedom you can experience is in the momentum you build, the driving force that gives life to your reality and takes you far from a place long forlorn.
We seem to be running away from something, moving away from it in such a fashion having not looked back that we can no longer say what it is we exactly are being so vehemently repusled from, from a detached perspective it can be easily seen as an awkward enthusiasm for a goal equally as misconstrued and unattainable.
In that perpetuity, when the stars finally align, or the dust settles after the rampage we are once again left with no choice but to perform the final sacrifice, the leap of faith in which you can only ponder “Did i really have a choice when it all started” and from that question alone can you ruminate all possible realities that have befallen you, from the immaterial to the “could be’s” and “should be’s” and in there, is the chaos of your deepened mind.
It is in this exact cacophony of thoughts and experiences do we truly experience the nature of our reality, a maddening compass that has direction of it’s own. Driven eternally by wants and needs unmet. It is in this instance when standing at the edge of your comforts do you see your power, the ability to throw it away all for the sake of something new, something that wasn’t before. In that is our shared damnation, the hunger and search for the unknown.
It is by the essence of our existence that we are driven on the lonely journey of understanding, our retribution ever on the horizon. Take respite in knowing that your own shortcommings and wantings are shared with those around you, be the stillness in motion, for without the stone we won’t have the mountain and without the morning dew, rain would never come.
It has long been obersved for us that “the self” or “the id” is the final frontier to conquer, we hope that when we finally overpower ourselves that we would be masters of our universe, enjoying the recompense of our “ego annihilation”. The freedom of desiring nothing it would seem is the final goal, ahead of it we can see ignorance still waiting for us to conquer, for ignorance has a mind of it’s own and it’s fruits most tantalizing. Could we then say that ignorance is a more truer enemy to oneself than “the ego” is? You cannot control what you are ignorant of, you cannot conquer the vastness of your folly, therefore one could also presume that simply a state of being, is in of itself a fundamental ignorance.
The creature, a well constructed entity of ever lasting hunger and need, caged by the walls of it’s own ignorance is forever such a mundane thing, not worthy of praise or divinity. Only in the acceptance of ones ignorance and the naked and exposed prostration of “the ego” is when one is qualified to be considered on the path to divinity.
When such a creature can display internally and externally a detachment from the rewards of “the ego” and both accept it’s own folly in hopes to transfigure itself anew, in there and in that in of itself is the divine, that is the invitation to the eternal banquet that sages, wizards and scholars have dreamed and prophesied. The house in which there is no greeting and there is no goodbye, the final home for the lost child of life.
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