Wednesday, June 29, 2016


Is it my misery that beckons you? Is it the pain that I suffer that invites your eyes? Is it the torment of my daily life or the once in the blue moon event that attracts your attention? Is it the muted cry of my humanness that plucks wildly at your heartstrings? Or is it the weakness of my being that encourages a look? What is it? What drives you to peer at my destiny? What makes you realign your focus? Is it empathy? Or is it to feed on my despair? Does that make you feel good about yourself? Does my misfortune make less yours? Do my cries wash your selfpity away? Am I the monster of your dreams gone ugly? Or am I the wretched soul that gives you comfort that you are not me? Where are you, at?

Or is it the art of tutoring? The fawning over tragedies that make for a resonating vibration, which has the magnetic pull since the invention of the written word. Shakespeare’s Hamlet, Macbeth and Romeo and Juliet, enjoy more recognition then comedies like Midsummer Nights Dream and Taming of the Shrew. Or is it the constant chatter of the pain of loneliness, the sense of ostracism from an inwardly turned society or just a game of the mind. Or do the far away Roman prisoners fighting for their lives idealized in movies, in the Coliseum bring forth the unholy desire to peer at a similar carnage?

Is it my fame that calls your attention? Is it my material trappings that invite your disdain? Is it my knowledge or my intellect or lack of it that triggers the belligerence? Is it the soft-spoken nature of truth that undoes your passionate anger towards success? Is it the blind rage towards the goals that I have achieved or desire? What is it? What drives you into this riveting narrow focus of hate directed towards me? Am I the monster that quashes your ego? Or am I the beacon of truth that you wish to demonize? Or is it my soul that I have carefully crafted over my lifetime to succeed that governs your wrath? What makes you greave in fits of anger directed at my visage that haunts your very being? What gives you such vehemence?

Or is it the greed and jealousy of a few that fan the flames of hate of the many, cloaking their better angels? Is it in us or is it inbred? Is it Darwinian or Lamarckian? Or is it the implied flow of human emotions festering like a sore sprinkled with salt? Where does this pain of greed originate that feeds and simultaneously bleeds us of our better self. What nerve root, what impulse, what receptors deliver and receive these poisoning emotions?

These are the questions that tear a soul apart. These questions force an inward look. These are the questions that change life. Answer them and then look at yourself. Answer them quietly in the comfort of your being and you will change – for the better. They will force you into a place where superficial comfort is not given entry. It is a lonely place, a place of horrors, of soul mutilation, of ego deflation, of ghostly demons, of the id forced beneath the murmurs of human thought. Go there and look deep and what might emerge is a pure soul. The soul of a human! The oneness of being! The solemnity of truth!


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