Echo of Silence . . Here is the creation to complete my Metamorphosis of the Mind project. Below is the writing that I know only a few can maintain the sanity to read.
As I stare into the past, I cannot forget the times from which we came. The memories of yesteryear are fresh yet without feeling; they are projections our mind for which we know to be ours yet we deny them. After all, the passing waters in the stream of time have eroded the jagged tears in our wounds. All that remains are vestiges of the pain we endured that resonate in an echo of silence, reminding us of the darkness from which we came.
In times of prosperity and progress, we loose our vision and our dreams. We no longer see with an enlightened mind but with a subdued conscience. Our imagination fades from our grasp and we find ourselves in a placid world: peaceful, tranquil, numb. And so, in times like these Fate quietly sets up the stage for a tragedy. As we watch innocence and ignorance merrily dance away the years, we are tantalized and lured by their gay movements and sirenic song. Our aspirations rise along with our bodies, and we are pulled onto the stage to revel in a mindless bliss.
In the distant horizon, a storm is brooding. A quiet darkness summoned by the forces unknown to us encroaches from beyond. As we dance and sing, we become blind to the looming clouds in the distance and deaf to the brooding thunder that pulses an ominous beat to the landscape. The darkness is imminent, the curtain will fall, and why do we not heed the warning, why do we not run?
As the world around us spins and the impending doom draws closer, we loose ourselves in an intoxicating mélange of drunken ecstasy amidst our reckless movements, so much so that we feel invincible in the momentum we gathered. We are at the center of the world’s stage and we dance to the accompaniment of roaring thunder from the dark clouds that now surround us, creating the perfect composition for a strike of lightning to ignite the metamorphosis.
Following a blinding light the first drop of rain falls. It is not water but a sharp pin that pricks the skin. But no matter, it is water to us because we are invincible. We dance as if nothing happened, even as a bead of blood surfaces but is quickly brushed away by our swirling movements. This is expected, but so is the persistence of Fate, whose will infinitely dominates that of man’s.
Now comes the tempest – a hailstorm of piercing needles! Suddenly, we feel a sharp pain so mortal and debilitating that we become paralyzed in affliction and disbelief. Can you imagine my friend, the power of this moment when reality shatters into a thousand fragments by the crashing chaos? Can you comprehend such intense unexpected suffering and the fear as the solid stage beneath our feet collapses into the great void!?
We fall into the darkness amidst our pain, fear, and anguish. In the void all is a dead blackout, and we are tethered to life by a hair-thin thread. For those who clinched to it, we shout to the heavens and we begin (perhaps once again) our cry of dreams.