Mystery School

Mystery School

Aug. 10th, 2002 at 1:03 PM

My emotions are my mystery school, pain is my rite of passage, scars upon my body documenting each level I have descended into, transcribed into flesh so that I may never forget the bargains made for the release of my spirit. The only tangible evidence of my self-immolation and debasement. Macro, micro, as above, so below, my heart a shattered mirror, reflecting back to me the pain of the world as my own. My blood shed by my own hand as a means of releasing the tortuous demons that dwell within this body that folds in upon itself, collapses, inert in a bottomless void beyond time or space, familiar black hole. Pain an old friend whom I find so difficult to release, much like the tender mercies of an addictive, abusive lover, or an untrustworthy mother who terrifies her child. Reflection upon choices made, questioning, has the good been there all along, yet remained unrecognizable seen through the glass darkly? Have I grown so overly fond of tragic circumstances that I can no longer transmute the lead to gold?

How I have longed, unrequited, for a safe haven in this world full of madness and hateful lies, where everything is paradox, mirrored shadow box, Raven magic, respite only given when I give in to the abyss. Surrendering to nothingness, my existential crisis exposing every rotten core within every seemingly innocuous belief system; even faith a construct of my consciousness, the little white lies I live by as I struggle to keep myself within familiar parameters that will eventually destroy me. Poised at the edge of a chasm, the Fool plunges to a fool’s death, just reward for having placed all bets on illusory beliefs. Holding on to unattainably idealistic flights of fancy, interminably Icarus. Expectations mock me, all of my failures echoes of transgressions in other lives which haunt me yet; is it all for the purpose of tearing down these walls which are of my own construction, so that I may stand flayed alive in the Void, driven insane by the emptiness around me, or is it rather that i shall find myself resurrected by this abyss, sane and whole, no longer a pariah to myself, and finally free of the desire to comprehend anything?

For long I have languished in an apathetic limbo, distrusting the world around me as everything I have tried to come to know has been disproven, vivisected into little peices that fall apart formless. Trust as another lie I tell myself to reassure, another disabling parameter. I reach for the things I think will bring me joy, yet they pass, fleeting, leaving me with hollow grief that slides like quicksilver away from my mind’s lecherous grasping. Nothing left to believe in, all is reduced to superstitious ashes, emptiness. I have been going through the motions, all of my actions muted by the apathy that lies within the core of my being, no longer seeking meaning in the shadow of a smile. I have stepped beyond the need to create, replicate, the need to be seen and heard, and returned to do it over, ever on this pathological rebound.

I try not to step on the flowers on my way out, not wishing to disturb the illusions, the sicknesses of others, as I have been where that path would take me; certain crucifixion, sudden death. My way out, yes, stepping off this macabre carousel, lucidly dreaming my way to another level of awareness. For why, I can not yet tell; perhaps to be able to walk tranquily among the raindrops while I am wearing this body of clay, blood and bones which mutter into mold and decay, melding back into the panoramic vista of the dream I have woven in the collective unconscious. Perhaps at last to have learned to allow what is mine to come to me, ceasing, after an eternity, my blind seeking for answers in the eyes of others; free to be loved, to fearlessly be myself. To attain a level of awareness that is fully cognizant of tricks of light and shadow, and thereby walk without judgment towards the unknowable, unbound by guilt or the need to forgive or be lovable.

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