The mind burns with desires and ambitions. The inner eyes reckon the potential and can see past the misery. The feeling is there and there is always hope for the best. The words don't make any sense. It's all a treaty with the inner works of the Universe. It's all a connection shared deep within us all. It's all deception and lies. It's all that meets the eye, and none that move the soul. It's all that was and all that will be. There is no time. No time for salvation, no time to escape and no time to run. There is simply no time. We are standing still. We are but mountains and time flows from within. It munches away from our souls and it munches away our spirits. It is all that will never be, for it does not exist. It's all a trap given to us by our own minds as a protection. It's the law that drives us to have meaning and a restricted life. It is what can drive and power us, but what can also destroy us.
And time is eating my fluffiness. It is dying. It was meant for higher purposes. It was meant to embrace the world and cherish it, and it is starving. Instead of consuming the world with love and embrace, it stirs on the ground, living its final hours.
Maybe technology killed it. Maybe science. Maybe the sworn enemy, time, which does not exist, killed it. But if it does not exist, it cannot have been murdered. That which has no life cannot be killed. By my knowledge my fluffiness is becoming a zombie. It wants simple and direct answers. Simple and direct needs. Nothing fancy, nothing silly, just to embrace the world in all its forms and glory. It needs affection and it feeds on needs. My needs. My needs for affection nourish it. The recent heatwave is killing it. It throws me off balance. I am weak and I am humble, as I am yet affected by these silly phenomenons such as heat and climate shifts. I must adapt. I must learn and power myself from within. My root to the Earth is weak. My connection with the Divinity grows ever weaker. My connection with myself grows slim. I no longer know myself as I once did. My mind may be shifting away from me. My thoughts gather in unfamiliar shapes. The vectors that once powered and directed ideas are now scattered. They are lacking direction and sense. This makes no sense. My mind makes no sense. The refuge I refuse to take is a general meeting with the High Council within me. The desires and cravings that I feel must lead to a higher purpose or shall be eliminated. The purging must take place. The once feared and dreaded reboot must be set in motion. I must seek a higher purpose. I must seek a higher goal. I must seek control.
As a drop of sweat runs down my chest, feeling my muscles slightly twitching from the slight chilling sensation that suddenly grips my body, I remember what I looked forward to as a youngling. I wanted to go towards the stars. I wanted to seek life on other planets. Ever since I learned of planets and our place in the Universe, I wanted to leave this planet. If we are all made of stars and to a point maybe genetically altered by extra-terrestrial life, there is a clear way. There is a purpose, there is a plan, there is something waiting for us. And that something may very well be ourselves. We must look within if we are to truly master our race and take it to new heights. Is this a brink of a new Golden Age? Would the economical collapse of the world in some way lead to the unification of our planet under a common purpose? Is Plato wrong and maybe there is an end to war? In every destruction there is creation. In every ending there is a beginning. In every damnation a blessing and in every thought a counterthought. I foresee a time of great accomplishments and amazing achievements. I foresee there will be an end to war. I Foresee the demise to be a wonderful beginning. I just hope I can foresee better that I can see...
As the song goes, the night is a carousel, and the bed yearns for my slumber. My slumber yearns for better dreams. My dreams yearn for violence and death. My mind yearns for peace and quiet. The quiet of my mind yearns for noise. What am I yearning for? What am I doing for myself? How am I rescuing my damaged mind? Is my mind damaged? Can it be repaired? Will the peace of my mind bring peace in my subconscious? Will the dreams in which I'm dying or being violently mauled stop or intensify? Is the world sending me a message? Is my mind sending me a message? And what is the message?
I am yet to recover my knowledge of the notion of 'home' and I seem to have lost the notion of 'comfort zone'. What will I lose next?
And for my latest concerns, my fabled fluffiness is nearly depleted. Dying as I stated earlier. I believe mana can resurrect it (even without resurrection sickness), but mana is scarce...
Sleeping will provide better solutions. The night is the best councilor, and my meeting is long overdue.
Good fight, good night!