“attach wings to the backs of me and my brethren, instead of whipping truth from the cracks of our temple. it’s the preachings from the center that are supposed to release us but, the stakes in our chains run too deeply. and, here I sit, locked up in captivity, the prison of my self. it is the truth that keeps me down. it is the truth that sets me free.
and, freedom is key.”
I don’t remember the exact moment that I gained consciousness. but, that moment might have been, perhaps, the most important thing to remember. it wasn’t when I was born. it wasn’t when I took my first breath. it was when I looked around and knew, in my mind, in my heart, in my senses, that I was something. that I was alive. that I belonged somewhere. I should have tried harder to remember that moment; that is the moment to be celebrated, rather than birthdays – awakening days. those are the most important.
from the moment that I was able to produce my own thoughts, they were intercepted and replaced with the thoughts of those that awakened before me. a mistake is made, seemingly, from the beginning.
perhaps, that’s why the story of man starts with a fallacy; it’s the only version of this story that we can remember.
it takes strength to not listen, to not comprehend, to not follow; it takes know-how. but, at the moment of my own birth, I didn’t have those qualities mastered. I was brand new, of course.
a hero is born and, from the jump, is told what to think, what to do, what to say, by individuals that were told what to think, what to do, what to say, by individuals that were . . .
you get the point.
nothing that we do is natural, from that moment, forward. we are all robotic, programmed not by our DNA but, by psychology. by the behavior, by the thoughts of our ancestors.
it’s this sense of “family” that’s evolved into a mockery, into a hindrance. it’s the sense of “culture” that keeps us bound. it’s the “institutions” that are supposed to provide assistance but, educated fools believe, falsely and all-too frequently, that they, themselves, know no bounds.
‘tis in the fantasy that we are all invincible. ‘tis in the natural that we are afraid.
I went in with my hands up, shaky, palms out and sweaty, as though approaching a savage beast, my heart was racing, and, I tried to say in a sheepish voice, “ex-excuse me.”
our eyes locked briefly; our eyes looked away.
my hands were still raised in the air, still afraid . . .
“ok, just pick one foot up and place it down gently. one step at a time; that’s all you have to do” whispered softly, thinking out loud for self-encouragement.
get an inch or so closer, eyes fixed on the target,
dead ahead, resting underneath a blanket, this foreign being that I couldn’t comprehend . . . this way of liv-
it looked up at me again!
I almost jumped. “. . . uhh h-hi . . . are ya hungry?” I asked it.
“yes, sir; I really am” said the man.
I suddenly recognized.
“this is a person” whispered underneath my breath. “would you like a-
“yes, sir. yes, sir. god bless you, sir. thank you.”
“-a hotdog, some chips, and a water” I squeezed out before he continued. he just kept thanking me; stuck on ‘repeat’.
he welcomed the food, no smile, no handshake, looked back down, and suddenly retreated back to being what he was all-too used to being: the being that’s unknown. the being that’s uncared for. the being that doesn’t belong. the being that’s good for charity but bad for attachment, bad for companionship, bad for humanity. the being that is more like beast than man. the being with no home.
and, I didn’t say another word, as though what I already said had made that much of a difference. I did nothing else, as though in fear of doing more harm than the only bit of good that I had planned to do that day.
I backed away and got in my car, and continued my search throughout the streets to find some more, just like that one,
judging the being by the appearance the entire time.
unending reminders that what we see is what we are this glass reflects that, which we see, is who we are; pellucid mirror. that, which we see, is what’s become this glass reflects unending reminders that what we see is what we’ve done
“There are no beautiful surfaces without a terrible depth.” — Friedrich Nietzsche
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