Death is before me today, like the recovery of a sick man… like the longing of a man to see his home again, after many years of captivity.
--Ancient Egyptian Poem
Perhaps I will be consumed by death. Maybe the jaws of that great Devonian night will crunch down on my mortal soul.
Perhaps I will fall into the devilish clutches of the endless acts of inhumane injustices and become but a number on a list somewhere. All of my authenticity may be negated by men refusing to reach their hands out to help a drowning innocent in the Stygian sea of doom. Perhaps the river Styx shall be my libation and Charon shall escort me to a Tartarus state of non-being. Who knows.
My family is primarily deceased, and I fear not following them, for we have been promised to be together again. Draconian justice happens. As for my life, so long as there is breathe… pneuma… I will not be enslaved my lack of caring for I am master of my choices. When a secretary says who cares… I respond… “I care”.
When a complete stranger mocks my existence I wonder to myself what kind of disease of thought could prompt an individual to make such a rash judgment and be unwilling to modify their opinion in face of overriding evidence to the contrary provided. When my actual deeds, my reality, is passed as insignificant and unsubstantial in comparison to the thought in a ditzy fake blond that bleached her hair to death’s head… I sigh…This is SAD!!!
Pandora’s box opens when man has no re-pro-caution’s, or consequences for his actions. When accountability is lost, chaos will ensue. When impulses can not be kept in check an eruption of disorder will destroy our sense of humanity. I will not reduce myself to the disarray of such disorder. I am civil. The primitive being of addictions and fetishes will not consume who I am. My gentle, caring nature with persevere.
Superficial dreams of miracles for extreme change are against my immutable character. I cry as the ignorant drive towards Earthly utopias, carnal pleasures. Pride and prejudice run rapid; malice and egoism are but corrupt alternatives to moral base. I immerse myself into this world with compassion, my heart is on fire and my spirit burns ever true.
As the Phoenix, perhaps I too, shall fade into the rank miasma of my environment smoldering in the ashes of demise; but I will die knowing I stayed true to me… I loved and tried. I was not afraid to put forth effort. I hope that my life has had Reason. Zapfre’s Sublimation… I aesthetically contemplate how a man: “can have the word goodness in his mouth…[or peace, salvation, love” and a bloody knife between his teeth”(Eugene Ionesco).
My subject of cognition leaves me in a self-emanating torture. I realize that I must die, death is a constant, a certainty, that no man has escaped thus far (not even our Messiah) and yet I have small hopes of lingering on just a little longer.
Life is such a habit that it’s hard to break, I am so imbued with the rituals and desires of continuing existence that, I can not penetrate the origin or root cause of where this disorder stems from. I greedily long for a few more days, for a little more time, a more satisfactory answer or two would suffice.
I long for… no, I just long… and thus is the nature of my pain and suffering. I abhor myself for clinging to life, I know that I shouldn’t and thus again I “should-all-over-myself”. Oh! Oh! Behold! The infinitesimal troubles of youth. The fallacies of misplaced concreteness.
The possibility of not being… the unknown… still scares me. “I’m not afraid to die, I just don’t want to be there when it happens”, said the wisdom of Woody Allen.
“Among the functions of the soul are lowly areas, he who does not know that side of her, does not fully know her.” (Michael Montaigne)
The possibility of not being… the unknown… still scares me. “I’m not afraid to die, I just don’t want to be there when it happens”, said the wisdom of Woody Allen.
“Among the functions of the soul are lowly areas, he who does not know that side of her, does not fully know her.” (Michael Montaigne)
In a cabin tucked away, in the forest of my mind, a silence so deafening and disturbing reminds me of nostalgia’s existence. As darkness approaches my shelter, wearing a familiar shroud, I find myself praying to my silent vigil just to find the strength to live.
Eye to eye with utter despair, I cry; for there is nothing so frightening as facing this unknown darkness. Although afraid, I am reminded of the fact that there is no change, which does not begin within this dismal place. With courage and patience I find, that this vast, dark, inner space, gives birth to light.
Trudging upward out of hell’s black depths and at last emerging to see the shining world, my definitive awakening (new sight, insight), perhaps may be indemnity enough for having endured depression.
Eye to eye with utter despair, I cry; for there is nothing so frightening as facing this unknown darkness. Although afraid, I am reminded of the fact that there is no change, which does not begin within this dismal place. With courage and patience I find, that this vast, dark, inner space, gives birth to light.
Trudging upward out of hell’s black depths and at last emerging to see the shining world, my definitive awakening (new sight, insight), perhaps may be indemnity enough for having endured depression.
Out of sheer strength,
I survived the inexplicable agony of my
metamorphosis (unlike Gregor Samsa).
Hopefully, in the near future, I will learn to accept these deep moods as part of me… for they seem to be an essential fluctuation that I endure… “An empty stillness which precedes creative work.“(Karl Jung) I’m emotionally expressive… I’m a highly sensitive individual, and I need to accept that I am who I am!
I wish that I felt my work was done. But I fought the good fight and will continue to battle on. It ain’t over till it’s over, right? Till the fat lady sings? (Probability is that she will be American based on obesity statistics!!) I know the world goes on. I recognize that I am but a speck in the sands of time, but I still ask myself what was it all for?
What did all of my sacrifices accomplish, if anything? Did I bring others a small shred of comfort. Is there sentiment in Being? My nuclear family is uniquely dysfunctional (Dostoevsky). I sit starring at empty chairs and empty tables where my friends will join me no more.
Tortured and neglected, raped and beaten. Did my acts counterbalance the male treatments I received in life. Did any of my efforts make life a little more bearable for others? Did my empathy matter? I’d like to think so…if I did what I set out to do in my early years than like a guided missal I hitched my wagon to the star of Love and only slightly strayed on my pathway to heaven. I suffered but did so with grace. I thoroughly believe that my actions and choices did the least amount of harm and therefore were Just.
I have ultimately been the author of my own destiny. I have not deflected accountability or responsibility. I have stood my ground in judgments and swift often cruel punishments.
I survived for a long time, and thus I have cultivated my garden of life. If others destroy, then that is their choice. If anyone would like to help me, then that also would be a viable option. I believe in an overarching structure in the ubiquitous “stuff” of life. Ockham’s razor.
I hope that there is an ultimate Reason and Good and Order in the Universe-- a watch maker so to speak with a Natura non saltum facit. I maintain the firmly planted belief that God will choose the best in life.
I seek to justify the imperfections in the world, the people who seem to suck all of the air out of a room upon entry and force others to walk on eggshells around them… “The greatest happiness of life is the conviction that we are loved-- loved for ourselves, or rather, loved in spite of ourselves.”(Michael Montaigne)
I seek a consolation of dilemmas like anyone else. I desire that there is a Knower, an Odin (if labels are not so important) a holistic world view that is not susceptible to imperfection, selfish desire and personal propaganda. I long for a better way to Be in the world vs. of the world.
I loathe the fatuity of fortuitous self-emanating prophecies of self-absorbed peoples. I don’t like hypocrisy in medicine any more than I enjoy it in churches (I.e. why I personally believe most atheist are non-believers… long term harassment and exclusions for the sake of so called religions. The spoils of absolutists is burdensome and, tires those around them quickly).
Demise is a necessary part of sentient mortal being. It is important to my freedom as a human to know that death is inevitable. Accepting when is a different story. I feel as though I’m fighting alone in vain.
Battling, without supportive evidence that my immediate survival/ continuation is possible, is kind of silly. I struggle with and for me though. I’m my own best advocate. For the 1st time in my life I am simultaneously in spiritual, emotional and even physical pain. My chest hurts. It hurts to breath. I’m so sick of vomiting. Pain insensitivity my ass!
Christ was right to call hell a garbage dump, but I’m beginning to believe that mid-evil Ohio itself with it’s apathy is my worst nightmare. I’ve continued to try to make a heaven of this place, but it’s seeming too much work for my little female self. My body is breaking down.
God put life in motion, the rest is up to man, I just wish I had more assistance right now. This Nemesis cries out… a bear can be a teddy or a grizzly depending on the situation needed…. Embrace me, please, I suffer just as you do, fellow mortals!!!
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