Why don't I publish...
This humanity is so entangled in the intricate webs of hedonism that the light of my writings would be confused with the strobe lights of a dark club.
Yes! I have always illuminated the darkness in the most beautiful ways possible, and I know that on the swampy stage and dance floor, someone exists...
A water lily, cheekily awaiting a ray of light to gather the courage to emerge, to exist, to embrace its pure essence. Most likely waiting for an echo that will strike it directly in the plexus...
But at the same time, I know that any glimmer of light coming at the 'un'timely moment does nothing more than accentuate the process of denial... "I am a perfectly embraced swamp / assumed in my non-assumption, I am just high-quality mud" are phrases I have often heard from those I wanted to delight with my light...
My tendency to penetrate and unravel the apparently unripe imaginary covering of the Lotus flower is as inevitable as it is impermissible. A kind of taboo written in paradox.
We all need our own light. In a world scrutinized under the magnifying glass of existentialism and global warming, my light burns everything, both ripe and unripe. Considering this concept, I propose that each of us becomes the incubator for our seemingly prematurely born being.
Being born into this world is so challenging. The chance given to us to enjoy the sunlight and dance with our own shadow is as unique as it is rare. Assimilation and synthesis are processes so different for each entity.
Photosynthesis, which seems the same for all chlorophyll bearers, varies depending on the species it belongs to... so I propose that each of us becomes our own incubator, and with a bit of work, we can easily find and adjust the suitable germination temperature, regardless of the layers of mud.
I've witnessed so many incubators where deformed beings lay, monsters of collective consciousness beside whom "mothers and fathers" laughed or cried as witnesses to their own helplessness, yet engulfed in pride for giving birth to something in the world... a kind of micro-India where everyone has the right to give birth to a new god... you know those children born with 3 hands... and the third one is placed in the middle of the back, attached to the spine... or Siamese (Semi-gods) with two heads, and each head controls half a body...?
That's how it is with mothers and fathers who boast about their creative offspring...
The fortunate ones were those who had Siamese twins... and during the separation surgery, one of them did not survive... They are true winners of the cosmic lottery, as they had the chance to see which part of them needed to die... macabre, brutal, real... truth.
Monstrosities of creations... they were nothing more than small Frankensteins of the mental and emotional incapacity of the gestators... so sad is this world of non-acknowledgment...
I got tired before reaching the saturation point... this world is full of lame demons strutting in the pre-walker and supposedly proudly parading on the catwalk of self-waste.
What a cosmic joke. When it comes to strengths, I tend to believe that I have always been fortunate, given that I am hyper-endowed with colossal and cosmic humor at the same time. That's how I managed to maintain my balance, that's how I deciphered and understood divine irony... Probably from here comes the power of irony, deeply rooted in self-irony.
I have always been capable of depersonalization and dissection of my own being... passionately engaging in psychoanalysis since early childhood and applying it to myself, naively believing that in all of us lies the need for self-transcendence and perfection... but they seem not to have found the first aid kit for their own beings, thus the compass of the spirit remained inaccessible to most mortals... That's why I don't have friends...
Why would I want to have friends when this world has no idea about the true definition of this concept... when this hedonistic-dazed world doesn't even know how to be its own friend in the debauchery it goes through... I always find you in the guilt trench... supposedly pushed by others...
You are by no means guilty... yes, the cosmic joke continues...
Do you think it's not your fault and that the blame belongs entirely to the illusion-bearing mothers who gave birth to you, lame, blind, deformed?
My question is the following, when you were confronted face to face with the monster you are... what was your reaction, what did you do?... more than voluntarily sliding into the denial and victimization trench...
The inability to assume your inherited or deserved monster is nothing more than another proof of the lack of divinity...
It's so easy to train your own monster... which, consequently, should become your best ally/friend on the path to befriending and perfecting your 'personal' being...
Who holds the chains... You... or your monster that knows you much better than you know yourself... And it plays elastic and jumps the rope with you... and you stumble at every step... once again being forced to 'slide' into the trench of non-being...
Oh, how tired I am of this swinging, of this illusion facilitated by the Newtonian infusion of cause and effect.
Let's be ourselves. Let's befriend our monsters to be able to pull the chain we apparently are entangled in, to bring ourselves closer to ourselves...
No matter how rough the road is or how steep the mountain is... and regardless of how many other adversities we encounter on the path to ourselves... it doesn't matter... the imaginary chain is there... grasp it and detach yourself.
Now!
