I do not know how to be philosophical about myself. The following story explains me better than anything else I can think of. What I am trying to say is that I do not truly understand myself. I am learning more and more every day. Take what you will from this story. After all, who we are has a lot to do with how others view us and I am no different.
A man stands in a long line of people dressed in black. They stare off into space as they shuffle along. Their eyes rest deep within their sockets, nothing more than bottomless black pits. They walk with slumped shoulders and empty expressions, these fathers, mothers, sisters, brothers, friends and enemies. The line goes on and on, never ending, never beginning.
From this line of the walking dead, a little girl dressed in black steps out. In her right hand she holds a withered rose with black petals. She wears a sorrowful mask to match the black of her dress, shoes and bangles. Her skin is deathly pale. She looks up and sees the man. The little girl walks towards him, away from her place in the line. As she approaches, her frown turns into a smile. Her dress seems a lighter shade now. Perhaps his eyes deceive him, but her outfit is changing colors, from black to white. Her shoes begin to shed their color as well, the black spots falling away to reveal a sparkling white underneath. Her pale skin begins to glow, as if a warm light had been ignited from within. The little girl continues to move towards him.
She stands before him and looks up with sparkling brown eyes, pure and hopeful. She lifts her hand and presents the rose, which is no longer dead and black but alive and crimson. The man gazes in wonder and accepts. The girl’s smile widens and she breaks into a soft, angelic laugh. She reaches for his arm and pulls him away from the line. The others see this and begin to wail, calling the man back with their awful cry. The man does not hear them. The girl leads him towards the unknown. She stops. Before his very eyes, she begins to dissipate in a fountain of colors. She evanesces towards the heavens, leaving a whisper in the man’s ears, ‘Be who you are’.
I will not pretend to understand this story. I wrote it down as I imagined it. My life’s quest is to find some sort of meaning. As mentioned earlier, I am learning a little more each and every day. I am the man in the story.
A man stands in a long line of people dressed in black. They stare off into space as they shuffle along. Their eyes rest deep within their sockets, nothing more than bottomless black pits. They walk with slumped shoulders and empty expressions, these fathers, mothers, sisters, brothers, friends and enemies. The line goes on and on, never ending, never beginning.
From this line of the walking dead, a little girl dressed in black steps out. In her right hand she holds a withered rose with black petals. She wears a sorrowful mask to match the black of her dress, shoes and bangles. Her skin is deathly pale. She looks up and sees the man. The little girl walks towards him, away from her place in the line. As she approaches, her frown turns into a smile. Her dress seems a lighter shade now. Perhaps his eyes deceive him, but her outfit is changing colors, from black to white. Her shoes begin to shed their color as well, the black spots falling away to reveal a sparkling white underneath. Her pale skin begins to glow, as if a warm light had been ignited from within. The little girl continues to move towards him.
She stands before him and looks up with sparkling brown eyes, pure and hopeful. She lifts her hand and presents the rose, which is no longer dead and black but alive and crimson. The man gazes in wonder and accepts. The girl’s smile widens and she breaks into a soft, angelic laugh. She reaches for his arm and pulls him away from the line. The others see this and begin to wail, calling the man back with their awful cry. The man does not hear them. The girl leads him towards the unknown. She stops. Before his very eyes, she begins to dissipate in a fountain of colors. She evanesces towards the heavens, leaving a whisper in the man’s ears, ‘Be who you are’.
I will not pretend to understand this story. I wrote it down as I imagined it. My life’s quest is to find some sort of meaning. As mentioned earlier, I am learning a little more each and every day. I am the man in the story.
2 comments:
this should really be collected into the big book of "Sheism Worship", I hope you understand what I'm saying...live proof of the "religion" thing I happened to mention somewhere...:)
j00z r teh suxx!
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