The Soul. The filter of man’s impulses. Arbiter of the good and evil that resides within. A spark of life born of devine will. The source of man’s inspiration for and appreciation of beauty. Father of twin daughters empathy and sympathy. Gifted to man to connect him to his fellow. Yet its voice in the form of conscience sounds so shallow.
Water. The elixer of life. The nourisher of all things. Animals, plants and insects depend on her. Mountains do not stop her path. But mountains are eroded by her stealthy war of attrition. Her abondance only masks her contradiction. She adapts to heat and cold and is never truly destroyed. She houses, feeds and belongs in all living things.
Faith. The conviction of a belief. Blindening and inspiring masses to causes. Also spelt as hope, anchors the soul to a promise of. Value inherent in the purpose it gives. Sometimes fickle as the wind and yet capable of immovable will. Its object need not be true. Presence of it though drives men to live their truth.
The idea that happiness comes from companionship and love of some true and perfect soul mate is a fantasy. Perhaps it is cynicism that makes me doubt that all we really need is love. Afterall, i have always had love in my life and even then it has always hurt. That is the danger of love. It opens you up to pain because you let your guard down and allow yourself to be vulnerable.
Why do we believe that the love of a stranger will be greater and more fulfilling than the love of a mother. That is in my opinion the purest form of love. I know my mother loves me. I have always known that. Even when she was being harsh and seemingly unsupportive, i knew she did it out of love. Yet she has often failed to understand or get me. All my life i have tried so hard to be understood but i have always failed. If family, those biologically programmed to love us the most do not always get us, why would coupling up with someone change that? Why would falling in love and getting married suddenly complete us?
Everyone has their own baggage. Which means being in a relationship only doubles one’s burdens. Why is that preferrable? How can we honestly expect someone else to bring us the happiness we are unable to find ourselves while simultaneously providing the happiness they seek in life? We often find ourselves drowning in a pool of psychological misery with no life jacket to bring us to the surface. No life boat to ferry us to safety. There are days we cannot find the good in the world and the thought of not being good enough to be loved almost kills us. We know that our happiness should not depend on someone else. Yet we can’t seem to stop needing someone. That is the unspoken paradox of the heart and mind. Logic and millions of years of evolution dictates that we learn to stand on our own two feet. Yet the yearnings of our heart calls to us to find meaning in life through companionship. I don’t know about you but my heart still flutters when a new romantic interest comes into my life. And then the familiar pain when that person fails to meet me halfway on the emotional bridge i have painstakingly constructed in my head reminds me how being vulnerable can hurt so bad.
Love is a crotch and it robs us of our independence. So why does society demand that we submit to it in sickness and in health? It is true that no one wants to be alone and growing old alone can especially leave one empty and even unfulfilled. But the alternative forces us to settle for something that does not guarantee happiness and requires us to overlook flaws we wouldn’t in others. In the end we all settle for the sake of not being alone.
No matter how bright the flames of love burn, it inevitably dims and threatens to go out forever. So marriage becomes a commitment to work everyday to preserve the dying embers. Life becomes routine and old points of conflict flare up again and again. Sacrifices made become sources of resentment and true love becomes a distant memory. At best all that is left is mutual respect of the hard won partnership with none of the passion. So if love is life, it’s no wonder love like life is subject to the same laws of entropy. The irony is love like life is chaos. It is all disorder and the only order to be found is that life and love like everything else ends eventually returning to their natural resting state of nonexistence. As they say, “all good things must come to an end.”
The smell of death hung heavy in the air with each breath of it weighing on the lungs. It left a unique taste on the tongue like cold metal with an indescribable bitterness that lingered at the back of your throat. The smell pervaded every room of the massive mansion reaching even places that the metaphysical goo from which it oozed could not reach. Like the goo, the oozing smell had a physical presence. So as Timothy opened the front door of the secluded mansion on the hill, he was knocked backwards by the it. This mansion was well known in the neighbourhood and children were told stories to keep them away from it. Afterall, it was in this mansion that Trevor Marshall killed and buried his father, mother, aunt and young sisters. He buried their bodies in the basement where they laid until their discovery. The neighbourhood children still believed the stories about more undiscovered rotting corpses in the house. Yet it was not the smell of dead bodies that knocked Timothy down but rather the smell of death herself. In this mansion hidden and hiding from those around her was lady death. For even death knew to fear what was coming. An end unlike any death was capable of bringing was coming for her. Even death was afraid of going back into that primodial darkness that existed before the very first spark of light. From that darkness came life but all life ends because that is the duty of death. When all life is gone, death will have no place in the aftermath. So even death hides and fears what the end brings and this mansion was perfectly suited to her nature. Timothy ran from the house in fear never quite sure of what he was running from. But death has that natural defence of making fear course through every fibre of a man’s being. So Timothy ran not because he saw death in all of her cold, dark and elemental glory but rather because he felt her. His friends would surely make fun of him for failing the dare to go into the locally proclaimed haunted house. But Timothy knew it was not ghosts that haunted the house but something much older and much darker. Something truely worthy of his fear. Yet it seems fear can have power over even the most fearsome of beings for all things with awareness know to fear the end. So fear is not the absence of courage but the beginning of widom and lady death is oh so wise.
What is it about life that has us all so eager to hold on to it? What is it about death that makes us all so afraid? If life was a lover, she would be that cruel lover that our mothers always warned us against. Afterall, life doesn’t care about us. Life doesn’t wait for us. And life certainly doesn’t forgive because she’s never shy to throw the consequences of our actions in our face. So if life was a relationship, she would be a bad one and death would be that breakup that delivers the oh so sweat relief that puts us out of our misery. So why do we fear death when life is so hard? Why do we hate the idea of the end when it is all that reminds us to live? Why do we cry when we always knew the end was inevitable? All things die. Even stars die and they shine much brighter and much longer than any human life. So if life is a relationship, then it must not be all bad. As they say, no one stays if it’s all bad. If death is the end, why run when it catches up to us anyway?
When i was a young girl, the boundaries of my imagination were undefined. I would spend hours in the backyard of my childhood home lying down on the ground surrounded by tall weeds. I would look up for hours often losing myself in my daydreams and never hearing my mother’s voice as she called me in for tea and biscuits. In those days the clouds would form shapes of animals, people and things. Before i ever came to Paris, i saw the Eiffel tower in the skies over my home in Sheffield. I was always seeing the beauty around me and all i wanted was to be a part of that beauty. To show those around me what i saw in my mind’s eye. So i became an artist. I drew and i painted and even dabbled in some sculpting. That last one wasn’t always pretty but i loved every minute i spent doing it. In the end i graduated from a presitgious arts school in Paris. I thought i would make the beautiful world i saw around me even more colourful.
Looking back now, i realise i was still so young; still so naive and unprepared for what would come next. I’m so far from home now and the clouds have no decernable shapes anymore. My mind’s eye is plagued with horrific scenes i can’t get rid of. My body is always soar. Worn down by all the terrible acts done to it. All i want now is to forget. To drown my mind in an endless sea of intoxication. I never used to drink. But i learnt to counter the feeling of sleeping on cold tiled floors with the warmt of vodka. It’s one of the few perks of being here. We get fed to keep us alive and we are offered plenty of alcohol and drugs to ensure we are too damaged to run. The added bonus is i no longer dream. I used to dream in colours now only darkness. I look around and the world has lost all of it’s beauty. I realise now that beauty is in the eyes of the beholder and a pained soul sees no beauty. My mind’s eye can’t see anything anymore. In my mind it feels like I’m stumbbling around in a dark corridor i can’t find my way out of.
I cannot wait for my death. Lately, it’s the only kind of day dreaming i can do; fantasising and imagining how it will happen. Maybe I’ll be lucky and it will happen in an instant. I hope it’s quick. But if i have to die in one painful way, at least it will be the last ever pain i feel. The only reason i haven’t taken my own life is that i know what would happen to the other girls if Victor comes back and finds me dead. He would pick one of them and kill her as punishment and as an example to the others for not stopping me. I’ve seen him do it before. It’s his way of ensuring that his products – which is what he calls all of us girls trapped here and waiting to be sold off as sex slaves – don’t try to escape, even through death. But i know i will escape this life. Victor says i will be auctioned off soon. Maybe then i will get my chance to leave this world behind. Then and only then will my pain end and if there is an after life, maybe i will get to see some beauty again.
Continued from An Old Beginning.
A plethora of theories fly through my head, some of them more convincing than others:
1. Maybe I haven’t even woken up yet. This could still be a dream, therefore nothing that happens to me here would matter.
2. In the case that all of this is real, how does this involve me? Maybe this is all an elaborate prank, an over due Christmas present from my friends at the office. But I can’t possibly be that naive.
3. If I choose to take this seriously, an actual threat to my life, this would have to be some sort of parallel existence. Probably some sort of totalitarian civilisation but for the most part other than us no one else seems to be complaining which really bugs me.
But, the biggest question on my mind still remains; Continue reading “20180106 – Warm Welcomes”