Merry Folk, part 1

Nary a folk ever existed, that I might see trotting about each day with such contentedness underneath the piercing rays of the sun, beneath the alluring gaze of the mystical Luna, under the prognosis of the stars, nary a folk I ever saw so contented, as I saw on once a fateful time, as I saw sitting to myself, with a thought in my mind. When the grass swayed, so too did their souls, in the wind, in the aether, in the vast extraphysical forest, as a wind passed by and penetrated their midst, swaying their many a rooted tree to and fro, flowing like nature, without care, only with the foresight to lack foresight. In hindsight, I reflect upon the effect that these creatures so achieved in functioning in such a way that they did, only in reflection do I attain even close to the mindset that I deem appropriate to understand the world around me; when I enter this realm of non-existence, when I enter this realm, this period of creation and of destruction, I am reminded of the nature of Nature itself. As a circle chases itself indefinitely, an infinite wheel of reality ensues throughout Nature, through which life perseveres, through which life disappears, through which the world itself is born and thus cast about into the void of all reality, and thus cast about into the void of all un-reality, and thus is the circle to end, just as the circle is to beginning. In my hand, I hold a delicate flower, reminiscent of human nature: the softness itself flowers out into a beautiful sight to behold, but to those who choose to not see the beauty, to those who deny the possibilities of reality, the flower is become a burden, the flower is naught but a simple bit of decorum, ready to be cast aside just as easily as the creature which may lay sight upon it. If I remove a petal from the flower, however, the flower still retains its beauty, its magnificent form, hindered only by a minute setback, hindered only by a minor mark of pain in life; just as we remove those features of us which we deem wrong, just as we remove those bits of us which we do no longer want, just as we remove those bits of us, do we retain our beauty, but in our beauty, we also retain our vanity. I look to the people across the way from me, walking down the street and laughing as they tell some story or other, as they recount the days which they have heretofore experienced, as they recount the days which they are yet to experience, as they talk, and as I look, I think of what it means to be. I turn my head again to the side, enraptured by a minutia, enthralled in the air around me, forever prisoner to that most holy of habits, that habit which doth allow me to persist; as I live and spawn by the hand of the world which so does by the hand of me, I cont wemplate the microcosm, the macrocosm, as I reflect upon reality, I see nothing but myself, I see nothing but another one, I see nothing, but yet in nothing, I see all which is not; in nothing, I see everything; in the infinite place lying before me, I find acceptance and love; between the boundless heaven and the limiting ground, I find countless reasons to merely live, to merely die, to merely experience. As my body ages and fades into the annals of time, and as I begin to weaken and become an immobile statue in the air around me, as I begin to weather down and find myself in the throes of death, my body reassures me as nature reassures me, as I am lead to the ever-loving hand of Death, my body guides me down, down, into the ground, into the world, as I join the legion, as I join the ranks of many a creature around me; Thanatos waits, among the ranks of Arthur, Gilgamesh the invincible, Beowulf, among the ranks of the Holy Blissful Martyr, among the ranks of Tyrants and Benefactors past, as I fade into the warm grasp of death, I am brought back to life in another realm, as I become that which so often has become a part of me. A little child is playing on the playground, and within him is the essence of kings, queens, criminals, heroes, villains, innumerable lives past; as he digs through the sand, and casts it about in every which direction, the grass sways, and as the grass sways, so do too our souls. 2009-05-05T18:27:15-07:00 148

Merry Folk, part 1

2010-03-09T16:11:04-08:00

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