In many ways I believe we embody the unconscious universe. The sorrowful backdrop whose presence breathes out through us as if a cold oceans water billowing through a crack.
Our souls mimic this through our scattered nature and splintering mindset...pieces of something sacred and wounded sown together again.
And yet we suffer through this force we cannot begin to understand. Our cracked eyes stare to the horizons and see horrors of the uncertain mind. Our cracked ears hear treacheries and despair. Our cracked minds toil beneath the weight of projected destinies, and our cracked hearts begin to feel little as it crushes beneath a quiet reality.
There is an illness in this way of life. A sickness deep down inside us that silences our smallest hopes...drags us towards this place of apathy and dwindling existence for which we fear in its unknown even if...it is something we have always known.
We worship that which harms us...draw ourselves to our pain and call this torment truth.
This weight drags us down, it drowns out any mercy of our redemption.
Such is the warping power of incomprehensible emotions and abstract fears crawling out once more from divine creatures...and we are divine...
These feelings...this hopelessness...this sickness...we cannot revere this. We cannot make a wicked idol of ourselves this way and call it just.
If the source only knew how we suffered this way...it would roil like a boiling sea...its screams like the falling of an ocean's waves..