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Status: Finished  |  Genre: True Confessions  |  House: Booksie Classic
A very deep, dreadful view inside the revolving birth of our existence. A perceptual confession from an agonizing soul tortured by the sinister shadows of life.

Submitted: October 15, 2012

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Submitted: October 15, 2012





In the darkest shadow of loneliness lies an intimate place where all our emotions impel to outstand and survive. This place calls for the total negation of hope, faith, and life itself. It´s a mental state crying out loud to be just an instant decay of sentiments, and not an eternal fall into the deepest pain ever experienced by any human being: the agony of a meaningless life.


Surrounded by a thousand bars in a cage where there are no exits, souls wander miserably in search of an inexistent doorway to freedom. They are inevitably caught in bodies living a fake existence and obeying to the lusty call of the world temptations. This unavoidable voyage towards independence begins with the separation of senses thrilled by million stings of life stimulus. Pretty much like a mother raising a child, senses deny souls existences almost completely, plunging themselves into a vast sea of new experiences, pleasures, and random sensations. Although successful in most cases, some souls reach out to appeal for an opportunity to express and manifest. When this should occur, existential conflicts begin to emerge. The fight between what we meant to be and what we now desire lead us to opt out for a terrestrial life instead of a spiritual one. This choice makes our souls burst in tears, but it´s too late for a free-will-son of this earth already abducted and trapped by the tempting appearances of this world. The pain, loneliness, and agony have just started, and they will not cease to prevail until we stop the denial of who we truly are.


In the meantime, those captured between these two compelling forces are doomed to an eternal lack of something they feel missing in their lives. The trip back home will always pursue them.  They´ll never be complete again, not matter what. Feelings such as happiness and joy will just flash out of their eyes in a blink. They are willing to share these feelings with that missing part of themselves they can´t reach, only that they simply can´t find the conciliation with it.Life is now contemplated in its whole beauty, and they long for a beauty already lost inside themselves. 

The chains grow longer and thicker as we move on toward the light of our living senses. Pleasure is now perceptible, so is the pain. These unbalanced sensations throw us back and forth in a temporary war. A war gained and lost, enjoyed and suffered; moments claiming to continue for a life-time, when not begging for a prompt end. The idea of an everlasting happiness vanishes in the selfishness of our persisting agony to return to our true self.


Masks are all we wear in the vast calamity of life. We are just tiny, little particles deployed into an immense universe of causes and effects. The question remains unanswered: are we causes or effects?  We reflect both, no doubts. We create and destroy, we seek and lose; nothing seems steady, not matter how beautiful or ugly. Forces, feelings, sensations, and perceptions constantly collapse and melt themselves into something irrational and senseless. The exchange of rolls and scales rub the smiles off our faces, when not our fleshes. The longing for good moments become an everyday anxiety, the fear behind the crying voices of darkness increase. We are crashed in between.


Instincts play now their part as a survival tool. People are forcefully taught into their own cultural ambiances. Influenced, obliged, and even manipulated, souls reluctantly move against the orders of the outside world. Its hands are tied-up, its mouth gagged and deprived from its right to express the true nature of its own uniqueness. Our singularity is lost in the false idea of identity. We do not longer choose our true self, but to resemble others.


A sweet smile comes right after a long cry when we´re a born. Would it be just a coincidence? Adjustments to this world are as a quick as the opening of our eyes. A warm and protected incubation has ended. We now breathe the air that will inevitably start killing us from the very moment it gets into our lungs. And so we embrace the cold and moist of our new life scenario. A blurry light shines and let us see unshaped forms. An ocean of sounds invades our ears in an indistinct cluster of words. We do not understand where, how, or what happened! In fact we do not seek understanding of any kind. We just enjoy and welcome all the pleasurable stimulations of this new life, not knowing same will sooner than later start pressing charges against the reasons of our existence.


Once tamed by gesturing beings who truly believe they may make us happy by simply feeding, dressing, and giving us the so-called best of this world, we commence to overlook and deny the inner energies of our souls. We become crippled at the sight of things we have been kept away from for the sake of protection. Our entire living existence is reduced to identical behavioral conducts - so interweaved- that merely some of us can hardly escape in search of an open breach that may let us see life inside out.  The rest is just a bunch of puppets with different puppeteers that goes on with the fashion. Their cords are so well tied up, their moves so precisely molded, their will so deceitfully bought that they truly think they´re up to something big.  These poor souls live and die in the belief of having discovered a new continent, achieved a great purpose, accomplished a huge venture when all they did was to live, yearn, and achieve other people´s crave for followers of their own vanity.


But the relief of the pain is worthwhile as long as we can keep the illusion of happiness. To be or not to be is not longer the question at present, but who shall we go after or who shall we identify with in order to squeeze the best out of life at a minimal cost or without paying any price at all. Purposes and fate in life are a time wasting activity. Living minute after minute is all that really matters. We keep no tracks of our own history, we have no regrets. And if we do, a few tears seem to wipe them out as if redemption were a pocket knife which kills all injuries and wounds at once. There´s a present tense which keeps asking: what´s next? Old pictures are soon forgotten so that when they appear again they look as fresh as the first time. We need to laugh and cry over the same things because we need the old attachments in new times, over and over and over again.


Souls evolve with a human stain of sorrow and deception. Conscious of its own nature, they subdue our free-will through intermittent sparkles of awareness. As if waking up from a profound dream, we only see scrap- shades of the perceptual reality; a reality we sometimes surrender for the sake of justice and peace. Most of us, though, would rather fall back to sleep. The mingling of images, sensations, and perceptions are just too much for many of us. Feelings are goals we need to pursue, and not just the outcome of an improving process.  We need an everlasting welfare even at the cost of deceitful and shaming actions. We don´t care about who we truly are! All we care about is this moment; the last second of life which may be the only one we´ll ever have! The idea of a past to be amended and a future to be built up on the very fabric of our own imagination vanishes now among the rumors of those we have turned into our own reflections.  


Pain rests unheard inside our souls as long as the youth passes us by. Bodies perfectly shaped march candidly at the step of life song. The rhythm is terrific, so is the way we feel about everything around us. The world is ours!  Only a few bother themselves to stop their frenetic passion for the unknown, deceptive flavors and tastes of life to contemplate it as it is: wild, cruel, and deceitful. Life cares for nothing, but itself. It exhorts every living human being to cheer for it in the prime of their lives, just until their decaying bodies start begging for a rest without it. Life allows us to use it for a while as a canvas to portrait all our dreams and illusions when illusions and dreams are all we are in the eyes of life. We need life to share just a few of its moments, life needs us to keep its eternal flame.


If life is lived in such a hurry; if we believe we have only one life, why do we keep praying? How come do we still perceive something superior? Paradoxical thoughts from paradoxical beings. We are entire contradictions compelling for a common end: a meaning. Denying who we are we pretend to encounter ourselves! Isn´t that crazy? In the vast extension of things, we are what we are - and worse of all - we know it.

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