Death

Imagine yourself diving into the depths of your unconscious. Would there be darkness? Would the uncovering of the un-coverable be illuminating or disappointing? Would it intensify the restlessness that comes now with familiarity of its inherent condition? Imagine you delve deeper. The deeper you submerge the darker it becomes, the less the answers unravel themselves, and the greater your mind craves for their acquisition. So you go on. Even deeper. Will you reach a core? Will the answers be there? You are too far in now to turn back. What if you can’t find your way back? Is that a sacrifice you are prepared to make? Is the truth really that important? You plummet farther, father down. You feel your soul tainted, your heart flutters, your mind weaning into the hopeless abyss. A part of yourself has left you now, you can feel it, but the sacrifice has only just begun. You question your motives, your faith, your existence. Has God forsaken you? Is he simply testing you? Your entity becomes polluted as your fantasies decay to delusions and your logic loses its coherence. You are withering away, stripped of mind, body, and soul. You continue now to plummet due to sheer lack of will, control; any and all influence that any being has over its person you have now lost. You cannot stop, yet you have more to lose. Your mind dissolves but you are still falling. Your body erodes itself with graceful simplicity. The emaciated remains of your soul collapse in upon themselves; compressing your essence into an encased hollowness. You no longer exist, but you continue to sink, slower now.

The darkness tightens its grip and exudes a semblance of constrained beaming intensity, echoing from within its vacuum. You are nothing now, but you exist. You stop moving. As time and space excuse themselves, the minute intensity suddenly envelops you. It becomes your being. You are nothing and you are everything. You exist now in no dimension, descended upon from the first. The impossible simplicity of your existence simultaneously necessitates its infinite nature. You are all.

In essence, you have not assumed the power and position of all, nor have you attained the knowledge and wisdom to merit. Do not be deluded with grandeur; you are not God. In fact, you have fused yourself into the quilt of the greater being, effectively painting yourself into that so-called bigger picture. God is not, and has never been, an entity, a single being. He is not. She is not. It is not. Rather it serves as an endless amalgamation of itself, sort of if infinity were asked to count itself. A soul is referred to as the eternal nature of the human entity, the indestructible metaphysical spirit, per se. The human life comes and passes as a trivial tick on the soul’s limitless lifetime. So have you become,  a new admittance into the grander scheme, granted safe passage to what is beyond the physical, the mental, and even the spiritual. Though the complexity of this transience boggles the most potent of imaginations, that itself is the mocking irony of its circumstance, as it exists as nothing more than a mere thought. Uncontrollable, untraceable, indistinguishable, and unexplainable.

The irony of the human condition is that if you wish to know whether something is worth it, you must first sacrifice everything for it. A man falls in love only once in his lifetime. Sometimes never. There is only one woman throughout his lifetime that places her grasp firmly around his heart. When he finds her, he gives everything for her, and either his passion is requited or it is not, but either way, he is a doomed man. As of that point forward, he will become consumed by a severe mental disorder now plainly referred to as “love”. He will lose a strong sense of his rationality and logic, he will develop several very severe insecurities, he will become deluded with his purpose in life, thinking it to be based on servitude to his partner, rather than achievement. His wisdom will hollow, his passions and intellects will dim, and his ability to perform even the simplest task will be entirely dependent on his relationship status. If his love goes unrequited, he may develop severe forms of depression that last a lifetime. Thus, one way or another, this disorder debilitates the man significantly, whatever the outcome, and its general curability is impossible at this stage in human evolution. A man will live out the symptoms of this disorder, often proudly, unaware of its negative nature and will thereto forth subject himself to the fullest perpetuation of his disease as is within his capability. All other men who do not suffer from this disorder spend the majority of their lives looking for it. And yet, approach that very man, that grueling, drooling, emotionally-incarcerated wreck of a man, at his utmost despondent of days, and observe the intractable insanity in his eyes as he tells you that he does not regret his love. Thus have you become; stripped of your spirit, forced into a plane of greater understanding, or rather, different understanding.

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