Aug 2019
People like to believe that they are both what is inherently wrong and what is blessedly right in this world. Inside our brains lives both a God complex and the most crippling anxiety to have ever roamed the face of the Earth, constantly battling to keep us walking down a tightrope of morality suspended over the eternal threat of damnation no matter if we believe it or not.
We are born uptight, pretentious creatures, and spend our years trying to paint our beings in the most perfectly haloed light, while trying to make it look like we are not holding the paintbrush for ourselves, but for those around us. We can never be truly selfless, to be completely and utterly so we would have to break our own necks, peel back our own flesh, sacrifice our own immortality (if one can call it that), and be forgotten. To be truly selfless is to take yourself out of the equation all together. To recognize both the significance and insignificance of the sparks flying around your body and mind.
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This is not to say that we cannot be powerful. That we cannot walk out into the darkness and scream loud enough for the whole cosmos to feel. We can hold a torch to the looming mouth of the caves that stand before us, waiting for us to decide if we want to play God in our own existence, challenging the burning feeling in our core that begs for us to turn back to the light.
The horrid truth is that it may or may not matter which way we go. We can lay down our flame, close our eyes and twirl in circles until the compass points us to no where, and walk whichever way that may be. If enough time passes, if we walk until our feet bleed and our hands shake, it won't matter where we have ended up. That is the place we must sit, the ground will welcome our form, and we will know we are exactly where we are meant to be. Alone, quiet, proving nothing to the world, proving nothing to ourselves, unafraid and unashamed.
We are born uptight, pretentious creatures, and spend our years trying to paint our beings in the most perfectly haloed light, while trying to make it look like we are not holding the paintbrush for ourselves, but for those around us. We can never be truly selfless, to be completely and utterly so we would have to break our own necks, peel back our own flesh, sacrifice our own immortality (if one can call it that), and be forgotten. To be truly selfless is to take yourself out of the equation all together. To recognize both the significance and insignificance of the sparks flying around your body and mind.
*
This is not to say that we cannot be powerful. That we cannot walk out into the darkness and scream loud enough for the whole cosmos to feel. We can hold a torch to the looming mouth of the caves that stand before us, waiting for us to decide if we want to play God in our own existence, challenging the burning feeling in our core that begs for us to turn back to the light.
The horrid truth is that it may or may not matter which way we go. We can lay down our flame, close our eyes and twirl in circles until the compass points us to no where, and walk whichever way that may be. If enough time passes, if we walk until our feet bleed and our hands shake, it won't matter where we have ended up. That is the place we must sit, the ground will welcome our form, and we will know we are exactly where we are meant to be. Alone, quiet, proving nothing to the world, proving nothing to ourselves, unafraid and unashamed.
