I sit here and I do not know where I come from.
I have no idea how or why the world turns,
Only that it does and I too must turn with it.
I have no comprehension of the sense of existence.
It just is, and I am stuck here,
Welded to the passage of time
With no control of the forces that waylay me.
Who can tell the hour of their departure?
Who knows when the train will leave?
Who can plan any day with certainty?
And it is in this state, that I find myself sitting here trying to pretend I am in charge,
Trying to figure the odds of my dice –
But knowing the inevitability of being wrenched from my seat of comfort
And being hurled into the unknown.
I listen to the whispers around me,
I strain my ears to catch the disembodied voices that swirl around me.
I know they know, but they cannot tell.
They cannot flesh out whispers into words.
So I am stuck here with no hope of knowing my fate –
Like a condemned man who sits in his cell awaiting the final turn of the wheel in the works of the judiciary.
I am waiting, that’s the truth!
And who knows? When this wait is over will there just be another ‘wait’ on the other side?
Maybe nothing happens there, maybe that is the end.
And if that is the end, all I have waited for is nothing.
So I am left with three possibilities:
a waiting and an end,
a waiting and some more waiting,
or a waiting and then the objective of all the waiting is reached.
Now that I think about it, for me, only the third scenario has any interest for me.
Why wait just to dissolve as if you have never been?
Why wait just to go on waiting?
Therefore I choose a purpose.
And because I have no hard evidence to base my purpose on, I make one up.
I go through all the possibilities I can find.
I research the libraries of the world.
I eliminate all that that seems inconsequential, stupid and foolhardy.
I eliminate all that wastes my time on empty actions.
I feel my way through dark corners of intellect and logic.
I gather together all that I like, that seems common sense to me,
That gives a reasonable answer to every question I have.
I make sense of my world, and in every area I explore the thoughts of others
Comparing the ideas of ancient voices with those more present.
I look for synchronicities and agreement where it is impossible for one voice to have heard the other.
And after gathering all this information
I form my theory.
As time goes by I hold the theory up to the light for inspection to see if it holds
Knowing that if one uncomfortable thought emerges,
I will be plunged back into the search.
Now I have a plan,
And life becomes meaningful:
I know where I am going,
I know what I am doing and
I know why I am doing it.
And on the surface this seems enough.
I have an answer for everything,
I’m ready for anything and prepared for the best and the worst.
Heart, mind and soul are aligned………
Until
That moment,
When the world goes black.
That moment,
When all the lights go out.
That moment,
When an enormity of catachlysmic proportions tears the sinews from my bones,
Wrenches my heart from my chest and flings my mangled, pulped body against the heartless cliffs of circumstance!
What is the use of intellect?
What use is research?
Who cares about waiting for purpose or not!
It is only in these violent moments of disruption and chaos,
That the mind is swallowed up in the agony and horror of loss and despair.
It is only in these interminable minutes, where time slashes away at our armour of sense
And flings us into an abyss of torture and incessant lament.
It is only in this depth of carnage that hopes and dreams are as incoherent as the languages of the past.
It is here, where only tears and heaving sobs,
Uncontrolled from deep within,
Have any place.
And there is no remedy for this.
Only maybe the passage of time might shroud us
And take us on a journey far from the memory.
It is only here, where the present completely absorbs us.
And in this abscess of dank, dark grief
We touch the chord of who we really are.
mystic storyteller 