Eyes Open
The people around me are increasing in numbers...
...and I can't even see most of them. It feels like an army, a legion, sometimes. Listening, watching, but only rarely speaking. Though when they do, I feel like my eyes are opening more and more.
I'm understanding more.
I'm asking countless questions, never satisfied with small measures in the matters of the mind. Even as I drive or walk alone to frequented destinations, my path feels so unknown to me. The vast expanse of my mind molds the scenery into a tunnel of whispers, blurred with shadows of people who are not tangibly there.
This, surely, must be the markings of a madman. But if so, then I feel myself slipping into a symbiotic relationship with the conjurations of my sickness. I'm reaching a point where my fear of being insane is overwhelmed by my heart's assertion that I'm not... that the majority is blind to a more truthful reality that I uniquely experience as a brilliant madness...
...but the most beautiful thing about majorities is that there are massive groups of people who defy the accepted norm. As much as my humanity would coerce me into a pitiful depressive loneliness, it seems like there is going to soon be too many people for that weakness to be humored.
In a big way, I'm never alone...
...but then there's the tunnel. My mind... when I realize how much of my most cherished aspects of life are so disconnected from my physical world, it feels like I'm slowly dying.
Melodramatic, I wish. To be honest, I don't know what I want.
I perceive the world in two somewhat distinct ways... they both fit together, but they both reject each other at the same time. So few people see everything that I do, and in varying degrees of clarity, that it seems like I'm in my own world most of the time. The illusion is that I have imagined it all... but this world that I can touch rejects that another, perhaps more advanced one, could exist at all...
In this "other world", there is conversely an air of transcendence. It almost devalues what I do on a daily basis... but at the same time, knowing that there are much deeper meanings and consequences for actions make me live more deliberately and appreciatively.
I can't say everything that I know from my habitation of "the other world" (both because it's inexplicable and of dire secrecy) but if they combined, my existence would feel complete.
Recently I asked, "If I'm so small and fragile now, why do I even exist in this form? If I'm bound to this mortal form, why bear it? Why not die and become something better, if it's in my power?"
What came to mind as an answer was a quote from Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows (cruelly presenting a comparison to something fictional), "You mean to tell me that you raised the boy so that he could die at the right moment, you raised him like a pig for slaughter."
Not only do I not know what I want... I don't know how to feel. At the prospect of dying for a better cause, I want to believe I'm willing enough... I would die to become something better and more like Truth... if none of this is real, then I am living to die anyways... either way, it's like I'm already dead.
That's selfish.
Not only that, but selfishly self-destructive and dispiriting as well...
...so I think about all those people... the ones around me now, looking over my shoulder to read this... looking into my mind and seeing my thoughts... and I hope that one day they could all be the same to me.
I can't say what is going to happen in the near future... even with this loud clock counting down the moments to an undefined conclusion... but I know that there are a lot of eyes slowly turning upon me... my dreams are melding with the apparitions of the waking world... and even when I'm sleeping I feel my eyes opening.
...and I can't even see most of them. It feels like an army, a legion, sometimes. Listening, watching, but only rarely speaking. Though when they do, I feel like my eyes are opening more and more.
I'm understanding more.
I'm asking countless questions, never satisfied with small measures in the matters of the mind. Even as I drive or walk alone to frequented destinations, my path feels so unknown to me. The vast expanse of my mind molds the scenery into a tunnel of whispers, blurred with shadows of people who are not tangibly there.
This, surely, must be the markings of a madman. But if so, then I feel myself slipping into a symbiotic relationship with the conjurations of my sickness. I'm reaching a point where my fear of being insane is overwhelmed by my heart's assertion that I'm not... that the majority is blind to a more truthful reality that I uniquely experience as a brilliant madness...
...but the most beautiful thing about majorities is that there are massive groups of people who defy the accepted norm. As much as my humanity would coerce me into a pitiful depressive loneliness, it seems like there is going to soon be too many people for that weakness to be humored.
In a big way, I'm never alone...
...but then there's the tunnel. My mind... when I realize how much of my most cherished aspects of life are so disconnected from my physical world, it feels like I'm slowly dying.
Melodramatic, I wish. To be honest, I don't know what I want.
I perceive the world in two somewhat distinct ways... they both fit together, but they both reject each other at the same time. So few people see everything that I do, and in varying degrees of clarity, that it seems like I'm in my own world most of the time. The illusion is that I have imagined it all... but this world that I can touch rejects that another, perhaps more advanced one, could exist at all...
In this "other world", there is conversely an air of transcendence. It almost devalues what I do on a daily basis... but at the same time, knowing that there are much deeper meanings and consequences for actions make me live more deliberately and appreciatively.
I can't say everything that I know from my habitation of "the other world" (both because it's inexplicable and of dire secrecy) but if they combined, my existence would feel complete.
Recently I asked, "If I'm so small and fragile now, why do I even exist in this form? If I'm bound to this mortal form, why bear it? Why not die and become something better, if it's in my power?"
What came to mind as an answer was a quote from Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows (cruelly presenting a comparison to something fictional), "You mean to tell me that you raised the boy so that he could die at the right moment, you raised him like a pig for slaughter."
Not only do I not know what I want... I don't know how to feel. At the prospect of dying for a better cause, I want to believe I'm willing enough... I would die to become something better and more like Truth... if none of this is real, then I am living to die anyways... either way, it's like I'm already dead.
That's selfish.
Not only that, but selfishly self-destructive and dispiriting as well...
...so I think about all those people... the ones around me now, looking over my shoulder to read this... looking into my mind and seeing my thoughts... and I hope that one day they could all be the same to me.
I can't say what is going to happen in the near future... even with this loud clock counting down the moments to an undefined conclusion... but I know that there are a lot of eyes slowly turning upon me... my dreams are melding with the apparitions of the waking world... and even when I'm sleeping I feel my eyes opening.
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