Who am I?
I am not a critic but he who keeps egos in check, I am not the bringer of truth but he who uncovers folly. I seek no followers or converts but urge others to find their own way; I try not to mimic or pretend but, alas I fail even at that.
I am he who stands upon the battlefield in a war I did not choose nor hoped for and I raise my voice in blasphemy against the wind for having been condemned to fight.
Fear clenches my heart and fills my soul with uncertainty. But I feel I have a duty to those that have fought before me, to those that have pained and bled upon this noble and accursed field of anonymity.
I have an obligation to her, who birthed me and sacrificed on my behalf; to him who offered freely the fruits of his labors and the products of his wisdom to me.
I feel a duty towards my creed hurtling through nothingness and looking for meaning in the cold, dark void; grasping superstition and mythology to stay afloat.
So I fight on in unknown wars upon unnamed battlefields for them as well as for me.
I search for Ithaca.
Those that stand in my way I will cut down and blame it on the universe, I will uncover them and show their disease to the world, I will defame and insult them in plain view, I will unmask their hypocrisy and reveal their cowardice as an example to be avoided.
Those that stand with me I will praise cherish their worth and call them friends and brothers, I will foster give aid to and honor in my own way, I will defend them and stand by their side, I will love and take their humble honesty as proof of character.
I will bow to no king and no idol will entice me into service; I will surrender to no Cyclopes and no Siren will tempt me.
I will search for teachers in order to overcome them and challengers to better; I will accept help and direction and in turn I will offer my own.
I will scream and tear at my chains, at my flesh, at my being and even in my hopeless enslavement to the unknown I will earn honor through my hope for absolute liberty.
I will confront all and become master of myself; I will accept no authorities but only allies and even those I will doubt as I doubt myself.
And in the end when I am dried and spent and my will wanes as my strength falters, I will surrender to my fate knowing that I have done my best, I have fought the good fight and I have remained true to myself.
If I lead then it is by example, if I speak truth then it is by experience, if I dominate it is not intentional, if I teach then I am glad and if I am taught then I am thankful.
Who am I?
I am the WANDERER.
I am MAN.
Live well brother's in arms, the night beckons.
Love is an act of naïve optimism.
Who but the very young, the inexperienced and the simple-minded could ever believe in such romantic tripe?
From a mere mechanism of social attachment it has been relegated into a virtue; its very existence within the minds of men proof of their overall frailty.
Only human reason can take an expression of delicacy and reinterpret it into one of strength and absolute power.
What is this promised supremacy of love?
It is one of union where individuality dis-assimilates into the other and ceases to exist.
It is an act of suicidal optimism and a desperate grasp at eternity.
What a cruel joke life is and I an unwilling jester on a musical carousel, spinning infinitely in circles while gleeful notes dance between the wooden figures.
I long to laugh from my stomach at it, to see the punch-line amongst the tragic sarcasms and bellow from the pits of my insides in a moment of surprised discovery. Instead I stand wide-eyed between the figures rotating in the night looking for a single point in the, surrounding darkness, looking for a single instance of stability in the engulfing black.
There is a joke here, an underlying substratum of ridiculousness I cannot grasp. So I am left to ponder the possibility that it may be I that is the target of this anecdote, and I smile inwardly
Where can I turn for solace, upon which ground shall I build my shelter?
I stand here in the solitude of existence dreaming about an end.
I am surrounded by multiplicity and diversity; in the turmoil of relationships I feel as one, alone in a crowd of objectifications.
But even this is an illusion.
In the darkness I wander, lost in my own perceptions, and in the void I construct temporary castles to achieve a focus for a restless mind.
I am often tempted, oh how I am tempted, to let go, to surrender, to give in as many have, and fool myself, delude myself into meanings of my own imagining.
My body cries out for contentment, begs for shallow rapture that lasts only for so long; it needs to be fed and the temporary nature of gratification does not lessen its zeal.
But I see it for what it is: a mechanical expression of a transcending will that knows only struggle and strife. There is no moment of peace, no possibility of rest; there is only an escape from the awareness of it and even this comes with great effort and at a high cost.
In this whirlwind I persevere, I struggle on, alone.
I gather understanding as others hoard material things. This is my treasure, my motivation, my purpose; this and only this belongs only to me in eternity.
Through the story of my life I will experience both gain and loss, both pleasure and pain and in this I will lose myself as it is my nature to do so. But always in the depth of my consciousness, in the back of my mind, I will know of its hypocritical illusion; I will comprehend only its surface value that hides a hollow empty center.
I will remain forever a spectator of my own experience.
This is not my desperation or a source for further suffering; in fact it is this knowledge that sets me free from the world and the self that binds me to it, and it liberates my mind from its prejudices.
What for others, at first sight, may appear terrifying is for me the fountain of my inner strength; paid for with years of acceptance.
Who has felt the sweet rapture of being alive; energy flowing through the molecules of the body, making the hairs stand on end and the eyes water?
Who has touched the flesh of another and felt their gentle fingertips pulling, wanting, and drinking his breath with every gasp?
Who has heard the vibrations of life reverberating through his soul; the senses sucking the marrow out of existence; wanting more, needing more?
The one that has felt the rapture.
Electric energy crashes in waves against the limits seeking to break them, to shatter them into infinity.
The momentary contentment that follows is a brief respite from the unending search for satisfaction and the beginning of a hopeful expectation for the next instant.
This is being this is existence.
So many words! I can't keep up. Can you give us a synopsis?
Satyr wrote:Synopsis:
I like Pizza.
OK; well in that case, join me.
