There has always been an abysmal Despair & Grief that I have awoken to for most of my life. It is very much known, and yet wholly intangible. And so I continue to remain, yet another casualty in the epic battle for sovereignty between a harsh Ecclesiatical Realism and a much gentler Romantic Mysticism. Yet still, everything sinks to the bone, consumed by that insatiable thirst for the sweet, intoxicating wine of the Inscrutable. Hope, for some, lies in Certainty, for others, in Enigma. For these latter kind, the science of fact, is untactfully exact. Yet for the former, the science of applied fiction, is a much coveted affliction, cure for the root of all ills, where Passion sleeps and Stoic Resignation further stills. And who is the keeper of this house? Is it that Brother of Sleep, so fiercely loyal and omnipresent, as the costs of Survival are weighed and Life extorts nevertheless without us. Soon, the work gets neglected and we come to see that there is no way to stop the fraudulent accounting before the red soon runs dry and we quickly falter without a quarterly reminder of our debts.
Yet the Overseer has still managed to keep us upright, and we can at least be assured, that as long as there is blood coarsing hot and quick beneath the skin, the books will remain in balance. And we just might remain fatally upright in our figurings, until the costs of our Survival reach their final recompense before the low court of the Brother of Sleep. For soon, even the Overseer decides that he can live in indigence with us no longer, thus granting our guardianship to this Brother of Sleep, more commonly revered as Death, the mortal enemy, yet forbidden, secret lover of the Life we had so carelessly spent trying to preserve. For most of my life I had felt both dead and yet acutely aware and sentient of the life pulsating, throbbing and burning without. It was the worst, most terrifying feeling. And so would I force myself out to breathe in this life which I felt I did not possess, but would hear voices of condemnation, persecution and rebuke, bearing accusations of my dubiety and duplicity.
I often felt as if I were some great Automaton of Melancholia & Ennui. And, after so many years experiencing the ravages of this existence, I often even wondered if I had not metamorphed into something altogether subhuman. The only wisps of cognitive-emotive prescience that billowed as but mere tattered remains of a real, live human entity within my mind, within my soul, could be sensed only through a wrenching, dehumanizing loathing and seething envy for the life which I felt to be so vital, vibrant and vivid within others. I felt that they were color combinations of infinite, kaleidoscopic, dazzling array, fluorescent, animate and superior. Yet I remained, that barely apprehensible little, grey blot of blemish upon the canvas. And I sensed impending revision, as I knew, sooner or later, that I would be brushed off of that canvas by the Master Artist Himself. The ominous dread of existential annihilation which most rarely allow to surface from the primeval, subterranean depths of their subconscious, I fully inhabited like that of my very own breath.
The deep and abiding Terror was that I would soon become so faded, jaded and weary that all self-sight sense would betray the optical nerve of The Third Eye, and I would be damned not only upon this earth but thereafter. Yet I did not know which terrified me most, the prospect of extinction into utter Oblivion, or that of an Eternity spent in some Gehenna of my own creation. And I not only began to question who I was, but what I was. I began to develop complex phantasy structures to cope with the stresses wrought by my hypervigilance. I dreamt of being anything that was not human just to feel a dignified part of some species of life. In my dreams, I would be a black panther which scaled the walls of luminous buildings and sprang from the buoyant limbs of spindly trees with a swiftness and agility unmatched, and whenever I fell, would always land on my feet with aplomb, and everyone would utterly adore me.
I was a heartbeat, tripping all over itself. I was a breath, ragged with the ambivalence of that ancient longing to striate two irreconcilable worlds. I often wondered which insanity was sane and which sanity, was utter madness? For the true madness housed itself within the need to ask the question at all. For when Nature must be forced, inwards or outwards, the boundaries between Heaven & Hell become so blurred, they often merge, are completely indistinguishable from one another. Yet the memory of Heaven was still strong enough within me, though distant in its reminiscence most of the time. Its imprint somehow always remained fresh upon the permeable membrane of my Soul. Yet the tragi-comedy always pandered to one theme: How the full knowledge of Heaven is the very thing which grants Hell its scourging singularity and perhaps for its very existence, while the knowledge of Hell is gleaned directly from the longing and striving for its counterpart.
And the Edenic scene faded out none too harshly upon the panoramic projections of my imagination, as I came to see that those sins which would deliver me to Hell, paled in comparison to those I would omit while in Heaven. The knowing so painfully separated from the being continuing on even in a newer, more celestial incarnation. But it all began to make sense, for I saw the sum of one's Life as coming down to those choices made in the full presence of this spiritual prescience. Yet how often I would foolishly run asunder, forgetting all too easily that this kind of comprehension needed not be so painstakingly grasped at for that navigating which the Heart already has its own adept compass for. And I began to see that the two worlds through which my paths would meander allowed both for my knowing and my being, and that I could never be forever lost. Yet most of all, I could also never be lost completely to others of my human family. And soon, I would no longer need to grapple so much with the question of Sanity vs. Insanity, but would see the wellness inherent in both the need to ask the question and in the desire to answer considering not just myself, but all others as well.
After I had made my decision that one day, for once I began to truly throw caution to the wind. But this time, the air which moved me, was the very breath of God Himself. And now, could I let my blood course through the ports of every emotive sea reasonably beyond any bounds, tamed as I was within the graces of God, no longer in dread of the snares of Fear's vast, crude wilderness which had always gripped the Achille's heel of the soul in merciless tenacity. Now, could I let my heart beat at its true pace, thundering, rumbling, allegrissimo, affettuoso, letting Joy and Courage lend final conciliation with Grief & Cowardice, so that my mortal Soul could finally meet its noblest Cause, that indefinable yet overbearing thing which had kept it for so long now tied to this blessedly-cursed earth. Now, could Transcendence be seen for what it had truly been, all along, pure beingness, right here and right now.
Now, the inherent wisdom of the primordial mind needed no longer turn to the counsel of that nihilistic, Nietzschean platform, spouting the pithy propaganda of contrived self-determinism. No longer would my human organism stop the very natural, right and true processes of Life itself with blind adherence to such countless, corrosive ideas, regiments and schemes. Now, would I choose to no longer place such blind faith in the concept of Life as a mere conduit for Death's ultimate goal. No longer would I exalt mere survival above thrivance. Now, would I see only through the corrective lens of Truth and instead view Life and its purpose with an unapologetic and majestic simplicity worthy of it. For countless poets, philosophers, priests and sages throughout time immemorial had sought to answer of Life's purpose, presuming it rather incorrectly to be so esoteric, so elusive. But I now knew, and the simplicity of its answer no longer precluded credulity: The meaning of life is, to live it with as much truth and humanity as is possible, no more, no less.
So, what of survival then, and its creaturely cause? Should I live in complete abandonment of the restraints of even this carnal need? But I concluded that it had never been so much about choosing sides, insamuch as an exercise in learning how to embrace it all with equanimity and regard. For I had been living under the delusion of Survival as Life's sole Keeper, when in truth, it was Life's certain, final and, rather debasing death. Thus, the Great Paradox shined forth once again: One must die in order that one can live. And how it always seems to come down to this, opposites in constant striving for blissful Union. And just as Life courted Transience as we thrashed about in Jealousy & Rage at having been so misled, cheated, betrayed, abandoned, exploited and neglected, could we now finally glimpse into the dear, sweet face of Inevitability, as it gazes back with such calm austerity and we feel within, a strange consolation and vindication at last. And furthermore, hit with the lighting bolt revelation of the futility not of life, but of our struggles while living it, loving it, hating it, even seeking to kill it within ourselves and others, can we finally find rest in our iniquity and infirmity.
Yes, now I had resolve, but it was that born of a much deeper rooted, more authentic humility and wisdom, which I would come to regard as my most indespensible shield and Saviour in the next days to come especially. And Integrity, that true warrior possessed of the indomitability of all potential enemies, internal and external trooped together, would instruct me in the fine art of cultivating Joy Everlasting. Yet little did I know, how taken aback I would be, when the Great Instructor brought forth the tools and texts with which I was to work, instead schooling me with an overabundance of Sweet Nothingness, reams of annals completely blank, and for once would this be, for this fledgling but learned and weary scholar, quite something.