Assessing the situation

Like a man that has fallen into quicksand, one struggles to find salvation of any sort. Reaching  for tree limbs but only finding twigs. Desperation breeds anxiety of certain demise, for certain he is, that the end is near.  Inhaling for possibly the last time an echo resounds from a memory past…

Religion is the sigh of the oppressed creature, the heart of a heartless world, and the soul of soulless conditions. It is the opium of the people. The abolition of religion as the illusory happiness of the people is the demand for their real happiness. To call on them to give up their illusions about their condition is to call on them to give up a condition that requires illusions. The criticism of religion is, therefore, in embryo, the criticism of that vale of tears of which religion is the halo.  Karl Marx

 Had his salvation become his damnation? Afflicted with neurosis by popular culture the downward spiral of sanity had bred complacency, and irrational mental monotony.  Out of habit he looked up, even with the realization nothing was to happen. Solidarity motivated a glance around, which happened to breed its own form of panic, insecurity. Anxiety of an unknown situation narrows the perspective and defines one’s own resources as inadequate.

Presented with the choice of evolution, which path does one take?

From the sun to Jupiter, with Saturn in wane .

Adame Edere

I intend on having no intent. I have taken an action of inaction.  I wish to achieve absolutely nothing.

This is my mantra, my vehicle from which I surf the event horizon of my environment, and worse, my psyche.  An elaborate dance to find the center of self which is dictated by the rhythm of perception.  Harmony is the tattoo upon my flesh as an effort at physical and mental discipline. A discipline which is necessary for the passage through the gate named “evolution”, a gate shaped by my persona and is made up of a mirror that reflects the soul. The audacity of which is humbling, for its revelation is nothing new, just a mocking reminder of who I used to be. Aspirations simply to become, not essentially more, but something other than the chaos which has been forged by archetypes not of my choosing. 

As a child I had a habit of staring at the sky in wonderment, during adolescence the journey inward began.  Marveled by epiphanies and the similarities to the surrounding world, an addiction began. The constant need for association and definition by the position for which life has decided to dictate. Which initiated the neurosis of staring backwards, collecting ghosts as the years went past. Haunted by events and people who dared touch the object which has been the infatuation for too long. In time, lulled by the song of a demon named control, scars, infection, and open wounds started to form. Justified by ignorance, those places were frozen, not for the purpose of healing, just to stop the process. An effort to stymie the desecration of a microcosm. Holy this ice planet was called and stoicism was its personification, and its prison.

 The path between mercury and the sun, with earth eclipsed by the moon. The journey begins with a book named logos and a robe called stasis.