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synapticjava Jun. 9th, 2004 02:58 am)
synapticjava Jun. 9th, 2004 02:58 am)I need to write. But I can't begin. The urge is itching in my fingers. My eyes are straining to focus, swimming in and out of past present and future. I'm gazing back upon my life. I am peering into the future. Yet I am stuck forever on the threshold of the in-between. That is what this is. It is only the holding area for us. We are here while time goes around us. We are outside of time. The present is not on the same scale we think it is. The present is an outsider, an unknown, forgotton. As I am.
I need to breathe. I need to be Stu. I need be amazed that with every passing moment, my body is continuing its cycle. The cycle we all are on. We continue around and around, yet outside of the cycle. We see it and percieve it, yet we cannot intercept it. We cannot stop this cycle. Long after we are but ashes we are still apart of this cycle. It is a giant. A giant out for revenge. A giant that can never grow old, because he too is outside. He can not grow. He cannot love because this cycle does not allow it. This cycle controls everything. Everything bows to this giant's mighty hammer. Only he decides when this vicious ferris wheel stops and begins anew, repeating its fated course.
I need to understand. I need to see the things I have shielded my own eyes from. I need to connect with others outside this cycle. I need to connect with my self. I need to know why I cannot participate. I need to gain the knowledge lost to me when I lost faith. I need to understand why my faith has disipated. Faith is like a shroud. Once it is gone - you are blinded. Yet while it rests upon your soul, you know only what is inside its nest. You cannot let yourself out, nor let any one soul in. My shroud is dust. Yet alone I remain. Perhaps I shall seek out my faith once more. Perhaps I can find solace in it. I request that comfort. I seek dreams in the comfortable silence of ignorance, of blind faith. I want there to be a God who loves me. I want to know that I am not alone. I need to know I am not alone in this. I do not want my journey to be predestined, however I seek the comfort in knowing my path is the correct one. I long to know that I am following what is my chosen trail. I need this.
I need to cast off my shell. I need to show my true face, and accept myself as my true identity. I hide from others because I know only the shield I have wrapped myself up in. I no longer know my reflection. I can see only what I have chosen to allow to be seen. No longer the tormented inside striving to be free. Now it is I who am longing to be allowed back in. I have forgotten my former self. I have lost my way on this roadway. I cannot find my way back. And I must travel back to begin again. To know beyond a doubt the path that I travel is the path leading me to myself. This cycle will never end. We must all begin alone. We must all return alone. We cannot take comfort in another lost soul - for they know not themselves. They too are locked out of their cells. Prisoners, all of us, of freedom. Prisoners who can never hope to be free until we at last gain entrance to what we formerly possessed. Paradise is locked away from us. It is hidden within ourselves - our shells which we can never begin to crack. We must find the key. Our keys were made at the time of our exit. Somehow, somewhere I lost it. Shiney golden light that can never truely be grasped in my hand. Faith and hope are one. Love and hate coexist in this grey area of in-between, this outside. Ying and Yang can never hope to find true equality. We must instead hope that faith is alive. We must believe in false gods and forget the true horror - that there is nothing. Our shells are gone, if they ever weren't. Survival is the name of the game. And we all have rolled snake eyes. Do not pass go, do not collect 100 years.
Our intelligence fools us. Perhaps we are all nothing. We came from nothing, and we return to nothing. It is the cycle. As sure as the earth revolves around the moon and the moon revolves around the stars, we are not ourselves. We do not know ourselves any longer. We have forgotten that our intelligence and our innocence are one in the same. Or rather, they are root and stem. Once the root is dead, the stem may flourish. Once the stem has died, the blossom cannot be held. It returns to the ground to begin again. We all can begin again. We can step back into the cycle. This key I cannot find - it is the answer. I must destroy this shell and shatter the illusion before I am allowed back inside. But how can I gain entry to the key without the proper weapons of faith and belief and hope? They too are locked away from me. I must get them back to me. I must gather them before I may proceed. So another fork emerges behind the thorns. Perhaps this is the way back. The path to the beginning. The circle never ends.
I need to breathe. I need to be Stu. I need be amazed that with every passing moment, my body is continuing its cycle. The cycle we all are on. We continue around and around, yet outside of the cycle. We see it and percieve it, yet we cannot intercept it. We cannot stop this cycle. Long after we are but ashes we are still apart of this cycle. It is a giant. A giant out for revenge. A giant that can never grow old, because he too is outside. He can not grow. He cannot love because this cycle does not allow it. This cycle controls everything. Everything bows to this giant's mighty hammer. Only he decides when this vicious ferris wheel stops and begins anew, repeating its fated course.
I need to understand. I need to see the things I have shielded my own eyes from. I need to connect with others outside this cycle. I need to connect with my self. I need to know why I cannot participate. I need to gain the knowledge lost to me when I lost faith. I need to understand why my faith has disipated. Faith is like a shroud. Once it is gone - you are blinded. Yet while it rests upon your soul, you know only what is inside its nest. You cannot let yourself out, nor let any one soul in. My shroud is dust. Yet alone I remain. Perhaps I shall seek out my faith once more. Perhaps I can find solace in it. I request that comfort. I seek dreams in the comfortable silence of ignorance, of blind faith. I want there to be a God who loves me. I want to know that I am not alone. I need to know I am not alone in this. I do not want my journey to be predestined, however I seek the comfort in knowing my path is the correct one. I long to know that I am following what is my chosen trail. I need this.
I need to cast off my shell. I need to show my true face, and accept myself as my true identity. I hide from others because I know only the shield I have wrapped myself up in. I no longer know my reflection. I can see only what I have chosen to allow to be seen. No longer the tormented inside striving to be free. Now it is I who am longing to be allowed back in. I have forgotten my former self. I have lost my way on this roadway. I cannot find my way back. And I must travel back to begin again. To know beyond a doubt the path that I travel is the path leading me to myself. This cycle will never end. We must all begin alone. We must all return alone. We cannot take comfort in another lost soul - for they know not themselves. They too are locked out of their cells. Prisoners, all of us, of freedom. Prisoners who can never hope to be free until we at last gain entrance to what we formerly possessed. Paradise is locked away from us. It is hidden within ourselves - our shells which we can never begin to crack. We must find the key. Our keys were made at the time of our exit. Somehow, somewhere I lost it. Shiney golden light that can never truely be grasped in my hand. Faith and hope are one. Love and hate coexist in this grey area of in-between, this outside. Ying and Yang can never hope to find true equality. We must instead hope that faith is alive. We must believe in false gods and forget the true horror - that there is nothing. Our shells are gone, if they ever weren't. Survival is the name of the game. And we all have rolled snake eyes. Do not pass go, do not collect 100 years.
Our intelligence fools us. Perhaps we are all nothing. We came from nothing, and we return to nothing. It is the cycle. As sure as the earth revolves around the moon and the moon revolves around the stars, we are not ourselves. We do not know ourselves any longer. We have forgotten that our intelligence and our innocence are one in the same. Or rather, they are root and stem. Once the root is dead, the stem may flourish. Once the stem has died, the blossom cannot be held. It returns to the ground to begin again. We all can begin again. We can step back into the cycle. This key I cannot find - it is the answer. I must destroy this shell and shatter the illusion before I am allowed back inside. But how can I gain entry to the key without the proper weapons of faith and belief and hope? They too are locked away from me. I must get them back to me. I must gather them before I may proceed. So another fork emerges behind the thorns. Perhaps this is the way back. The path to the beginning. The circle never ends.
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