Desperate Maneuver

Have stuff you created and want to share? Here is the place.
User avatar
Thenarius
Posts: 84
Joined: Wed Mar 16, 2011 6:38 pm
Location: E'er entwined in shimm'ring wings.

Desperate Maneuver

Post by Thenarius »

I don’t know how to put myself into words – this endless expanse of light which seeks only to unfold itself. But this world of people would rather sit in the dark! I would bring my rays to them, through the leaves – yet they prefer to sit in the copse of Paintrees and ignore me!

Is that true?

Inadequate. That is the word that drums itself into my subconscious. Everything I feel, and every dream I have, reveals that feeling. My creative self-expression isn’t beautiful enough. I’m not fast enough. I am not strong enough for my projects. I don’t know enough yet.

Inadequate. Like a heartbeat.

My heart contracts dozens of times per minute – electrical signals originating in the right atrium propagate through the rest of the tissue and force action potentials to activate, causing the muscle tissue to rapidly contract and re-expand. A flow of ions across cell membranes makes this possible. I am well-acquainted with the elements. I understand how they behave, with just a couple extra or missing electrons. I understand, more or less, how the physical contraction of the muscle tissue in my heart forces blood pumping through the vessels throughout my body, and how this blood carries oxygen bound to hemoglobin to each and every one of my cells, that they may continue cellular respiration, producing ATP, allowing them to phosphorylate the broken-down glucose which is also carried to them, moving energy around.

Energy that is spent on what purpose?

What do I amount to? I am sitting here, trying to write this, trying to express myself in whatever way, because I cannot simply “sit, and set out to write”, and come up with a coherent and beautiful self-expressive creative writing right now. I am sitting here, a dozen tasks left undone, a body decaying from a lack of care, heart struggling to continue to fulfill its duty when adipocytes choke my blood vessels, and knowing that any minute a stray lipid molecule could break free and float back through my veins to my heart, clogging the path, choking my myocytes of oxygen, and destroying everything that makes me who I am.

Death.

I fear it. I hate it. I abhor it. Should I have a better relationship with it? Death is, to me, like the freezing winds of Beaucedine Glacier. I see organisms dying too quickly and decaying too slowly in the ice. But death is also the harsh dryness of the Altepa desert. A slow and painful death by dehydration; a quick and putrid decay to go with it.

Is that supposed to mean anything?

I should have a better relationship with the forces of this universe if I am truly to inhabit it, to understand it, and to relate to it in harmony. Instead I always see myself struggling against it. The Seeker, the Aspirant, does he have delusions of grandeur? Will these be my destruction, in the end?

Don’t you have good things to ruminate on?

Perhaps. Perhaps I have done well in certain aspects of my life lately; perhaps I am more mentally well and independent than I have otherwise been; perhaps I have reached certain understandings and know that I am not quite so terrible as once I thought, and therefore have cause to celebrate.

But what meaning does celebration have? How will it advance my goals? That is the core of it: I make myself sick with the time I waste, time spent not advancing my goals.

You must define your goals, then.

I have them… spread out on the winds. Every little file in my Google Drive is another reminder of something my heart once wanted to pursue, but has not been able to make manifest, a dream left unconsummated. Why am I sad? I am lonely. I find myself lonely. It didn’t bother me so much last night.

Demons prowl, now, that ignored you last night.

Perhaps so. The same demons as ever – I ought to grow resistant to them. Furthermore, I guess I know that “normal life” will resume tomorrow, and I resent this fact. I enjoy getting money, but I must learn to reconcile this with the hatred of having my time taken away from me. But if I used my time better, this wouldn’t be a problem. There are pressures on me. I must evolve, adapt, to them.

There remains one issue. What is the purpose of being awake if I have nothing to do, nothing to pursue? But I can’t sleep now. There’s so much left undone.

I am afraid of sleep. What a stupid thing to be afraid of. What a stupid set of things to feel pain over. Burdens that encircle me, hurting my core and dragging me down. I am unhappy. I do not even seek happiness.

Would that the pain would stop! That is what I wish, what I have wished for ages! Why do I write this down? Who will see me, who will recognize me, in it? Who will see what I want them to see, even if they were to bother to read it? Who am I, anymore? Visions still dance in my head of the dream from that other life. I must adapt. I must move on. I must learn, I must evolve, I must become… something new, something greater.

The pressure of death weighs on me. I must change, in some way, in order to live. But I will only die faster if I change in the wrong way.

Why can’t I get what I want? Ah, Seigneur, would it be so hard? Would it foil some part of Your vast plan? But, as I have acknowledged before, even “permitting me to survive” at the cost of “oxygen molecules not behaving as they are supposed to”, You shall not permit. It’s strange. I don’t understand anything, really. Maybe I’m too wrapped up in human concerns, instead of greater truths.

Maybe this world is just harsher than I thought. Will I even want to survive it, in that case? Who knows, anymore? I want to live. I want to be me. I want to express my beauty – and be appreciated for it, damn it! Everything hurts, reader! Would that you could take on a little bit of my pain – and take it away, far away, from me! I feel scars all over my face alight, and I know that I am not as I should be. Nothing about me is as it should be. It’s a horrible feeling, looking at yourself and knowing how you fall short, being both judge and defendant.

It’s more horrible still, knowing that at some point all of these feelings will pass away and I’ll be consumed by whatever shallow, vapid distraction the day chooses to throw at me later. What a shame. What a shame that my fullness of Truth cannot persist ‘til the end of ages. That’s what it all revolves around, anyway. The desire for persistence. There’s a thought – persistence and perpetuance are different. I must investigate that. One focuses on the self; the other, on one’s child. (Not that I expect to have anything to bear my image after I am gone).

Reader, will you connect with me? Will you feel what I feel, a little bit, for me? I confess that I am too self-absorbed to think too much about you. But I am doing you the favor of at least acknowledging you, and asking you to share something, a little connection, with me. To feel what I feel, simply open your heart and hear what I am saying. Reread, if you must. I cannot perfectly convey my sorrows – I cannot perfectly convey my pain – and I certainly cannot explain the source of it – but maybe I can reach you, just a little bit, in some way, through some light, through some song. That, then, is the fulfillment of my mission, I suppose. To reach out and meaningfully touch another human being. That’s the aim of this, of me, this Source of Light – to shed light, illuminate, and change people, a little bit, with my energy.

Will you consent to be changed by me, a little bit, my reader? Will you hear my song, and bear it in your own heart, for just a little while? I hope that to bear my beauty can make you more beautiful, for a little while. Simply acknowledge me – listen to me – understand me, a little! That, my dear, is what I seek.

(Of course, I seek infinitely more than this – but knowing that I shall never reach satisfaction, a little bit of a joyful curiosity can do me quite a bit of good, all the same.)
Wedjat Iaret, Ra no Omezu
User avatar
Rin
Posts: 135
Joined: Wed Apr 02, 2008 1:44 am

Re: Desperate Maneuver

Post by Rin »

I see you, I feel you, I am touched. Provocative of welcome emotions, evocative of welcome thoughts. My own life's course affected ever so slightly through an interaction with another being, in the universe's elusive paradox of individuality and oneness. Sometimes appearing to lean towards the former all too much; all too much.

I understand, a little, and I am glad for it. Gracia.
Image
Post Reply