Friday, February 25, 2011

Shadowed Flames

The perception yielded in on itself, converged and collapsed and embraced experiences and sentiments and moments, then fluttered away into disjointed luminous, lustrous, precious strands; taut and resounding before fusing again into singularities.

The Observer saw that the perception was divergent. Not linear but parallel.

In the steely and metallic enclosure teemed with minds of worldly adulation, an assemblage of prominent individuals blanketed the floor - prime births from family backgrounds of the distinguished, the famed, the renowned, the influential, and the powerful. All so significant and yet piteous, so majestic and yet wretched in the knowledge of what is to befall upon mankind.

The Observer backed against the rugged wall behind a section of ancient relics and shrouded himself in obscurity. His silhouette was a blur of an outline; unremarkable and nondescript to the untrained eye. And the perception wove itself in and around and through him. He documented the traits of his subjects. Our subjects! It was the first time the voice inside his head spoke since his inception into tonight's stately reception.

Recovering from the fleeting setback, the Observer swiftly but methodically resumed his shadowing. His gaze slipping in and out of the audience's sinuously fabricated layers of nature and nurture, indifferent to the horizontal truths that enfolded ominously in their hearts. The very hearts that fed their swollen minds with promises of riches, pledges of loyalties, and assurances of spoils.

In his research, he saw what has happened. In his heart, he knew what has become. In his mind, he recognized the unraveling. And in his being, he believed what will be. Inevitability!

The voice again spoke in the Observer's mind. He was neither crazy nor disillusioned. Recollection flooded back and he remembered the silver piece of metal implanted into his left ear a long time ago. On the day he was received into the elite and privileged caste of individuals bestowed with the honorable responsibility to preserve reality's greatest manifestation.

That single piece of metal served as a gateway and access point for the possessor to gain entry and admission into a virtually limitless depository of information. It symbolized his kind's empowerment to the gifted for the evolution and survival of Reality's Greatest. It also worked as a conduit for inter-spacetime communications. You remember now...then it is about time.

An epiphany immediately flooded his awareness and the Observer was renewed. Emboldened by this new consciousness, he refocused his perception on the throng of people spread out before his resolute gaze.

His was the understanding of how far these humans - these so-called leaders of humanity have given up and forgotten reality in place of worldly adulations. The world was beset by plagues, overrun with undying fires, besieged by earthlanches, infested with artificials, and overwhelmed with many more upheavals and ruins. It was cataclysm at the primal level and all these individuals only cared about were money, businesses, alliances, and corporate charities.

The Observer could not comprehend how did they evolved from their hopeful and humble beginnings into this. It is the greed of mankind and losing sight of what was once fundamentally important but is now taken granted for.

He cringed at that thought. Each word, deed, and life was a mere drop in the infinite ocean of perceptions, persistently merging and separating to merge again. The belief would have challenged the feeble minded, the Observer saw; but his mind had been instructed to contain such contradictions as things being separate and having no distinctiveness.

With this conclusion, he pursed his lips and uttered voices in a low and inaudible sound inside his throat. The Observer spoke for the first time tonight to the voice within - his handler, "This knowledge, this pattern of the blueprint for what has happened so often before, is about to happen again".

The perception was completely parallel now; it was transforming and mutating. The Observer discerned patterns that floated on the surface of the cosmic rivulet. Again and again the pattern appeared in swirling images across the waters of an era and future and fate, submerging and manifesting with a cold precision that made even the Observer tremble.

Only true births can steer the course of the Manifestation into realizing its fullest potential.

"We have become so corrupt and full of ourselves, we have interlaced so many eons of our rich and honorable history with lies and deceit, destruction and annihilation. We've become slaves to our own culture and livelihood. We even forgot what it is to be human, to live on this planet as its guardian and custodian".

In an instant, the Observer ceased his shadowing and removed himself from the shroud of ancient relics. His fleeting steps took him as fast and far away from the enclosure, as sure as silence itself. He opened to what was out there; every second that ticked by represented another generational life span of a prime born.

Do not run from the inevitable...face it, embrace it! His handler challenged him to close in on himself, to not expose himself to the pain of the wreckage caught in the swollen minds of their subjects.

The Observer could not afford himself such luxuries, "I am not running from the inevitable, I am merely sprinting towards the preservation of reality's greatest humankind!"

Do you think humankind can be redeemed? Cursed be to those who see truth only but not reality! For Reality manifests but Humankind suffers the rest.

When the terrible knowledge of what had come before, and what was sure to unravel now within humanity, tainted the still flames of perception in his converted consciousness, he summoned all his energy and sent forth his howl, "I will not suffer their fate nor punish them for their transgressions!"

This made him indispensable.

The silence broke in and invaded the calmness. The handler retained his composure. There was stillness, and there was quiet.

Immobility transcends the Observer. Quietude finally persisted in the visage of serenity.

What have we to gain compared with all that we can lose?

Saturday, February 19, 2011

The Tapestry

Amity, jealousy, relationship, compromise, diffidence, and brazenness when sewn together, becomes a ball of fluid blend with interweaving strings of dissolutive harmony. If I had a wish for tonight, I would have wished the strings not be sewn but threaded, the fabric not be coloured but dyed, and the cloth not be knitted but unraveled. So that I could see what I have been wearing myself with all this time of trying out the ambiguous apparels from the same wardrobe of constancy.

It is very difficult when all the bits and pieces involved in the making of the garments are spawned from the uncharitable and false hearts of men. In my calm and calculating mind, I wonder if they are the progenies of past profligates, whose only source of enlightenment and pleasure come from that of marring the bearer with licentious livery.

But it is what it is. People are who they are and every fabric in the master tapestry of amalgamation serves its own intention. The union around the draperies lined with untried and untested honesty. The embroideries within filled with adulterated integrity. These are the qualities of fabrics I adorn myself with in recent times.

The veracity of vile vehemence vexes my vigour and verve vividly.

So to what end I endure and provoke myself to continue serving out unconditional affection? There is no point in continually garnishing myself in the warmth of these outfits within, and take pleasure in the smooth comfort of the silky fabrics without, when they lend substance to the silky tongues to which my ears and eyes and essence were so deceived lately.

It is the attachment that makes it painful; unbearable most of the time but heart wrenching every time. There is no point in feeling so indisposed toward this company of frauds who could care no better for other people’s sentiment, less I be disposed during emotionally heightened moments.

I only fear now that I may be on a path to a semi-cloistered life but given the alternative, I know this reclusive realization is the higher road to take. It is after all, only pertinently personalized for the fakes, the coy, the boisterous, the conceited and the vain. I do not think loneliness will ever be a problem. It becomes a form of privacy; devotion to the deserving only.

It is no longer a wonder to me, how I feel about all this. Because of them, it made me appreciate the meaning of attachment, and the waste of it.

It may be that one of the worst things in life is attachment; because it hurts when you lose it. So is it sardonic to think that one of the best things in life is then loneliness? Just because it teaches you everything and when you lose it, you gain everything?