man

This chasing madness is so deceiving. It leads me off into lands barren of life, with a voice filled of contempt for the weak, the same voice that animated Cesar and Alexander. This voice beckons me forward, pulling towards a portal into the beyond but there at the threshold all enticements cease and I am suddenly and soberingly alone. Miserably alone, abandoned by the one thing that I had chosen to trust. I am there alone with myself. The evening comes and then the night falls. The blackness is quick and suffocatingly sick before fresh breathes are once again granted as the galloping light of the morning sun transforms a wasteland into a garden. But, nonetheless, I am yet sill alone with both he that is perturbed and the other, who is indifferent. My thoughts wonder like a child sitting at his primary school desk in the afternoon hours following lunch and preceding the release from the mind-numbing uninteresting-ness of the maîtresse. The difference is that for the boy he girl they will shortly be liberated by the monster and his or her mother or father or school bus is waiting for them in the parking lot to take them home. This is more or less not the case of my present situation. There is no need to délimiter the exact différences parce que ça dévoluera dans l’absurdité. Personne m’attend ou bien je pense être bien séparé d’autrui. No one knows where I am. Perhaps, my location is well known but what that changes for the truth of my moral and mental state no one but the one by whom I was led ne saurait le dire.
As the days come and go, the voice might return to me as if it had just been carried off against its will. And in the end of finally regaining his faculties drove himself directly to me that we might continue our quest together. The simplicity of my nature is confounded. I must accept the developments of the moment and march onward. The only problem is that this voice would like me to return among my people, among my others, among those that I had left. Then comes the voice to contradict my lowly reasoning, in leaving those others I had abandoned myself. I had packed up all of me that I could support by my eagerness to escape the mundane but as is the truth that these parts of me were not the substantial parts of me that needed to be reformed, but, are only states of mind. I had left behind the half of my operating system, my me; in order to run a race to enlightenment. The ridiculous truth is that the part of me meant destined for enlightenment is exactly that heap that I left lying among the ruins of my family left behind. I being the last heritier, chose to strike forward because those that whom had given me the life of superficial birth and refused to question the fullness of life. Whatever that meant, I desired to discover.
I was led far away that I would be allowed one look back; one look from an elevated place from whence I may see all of the lands stretching out before and from there I may spot/observe the true weakness of our supposed cohabitation. From the top of the mountain I saw far beyond my own presence and my own understanding. But only for a moment, fore although I was upon the mount of transcendence I would be allowed no suicide in that sacred place. I was to be sent down into the caverns bellow in order to contemplate the humanly foolish vanity, which is the pureness of my humbly innocent being. There I waited and thought and pondered as if I would be indifferent to the passing of the last dying man from the bosom of the garden.
There were things that I fancied to constantly remind myself of. The ideas that I had been washed with as a child were still quite dear to me. The problem of course was not these childish ideas of goodness and utopic happiness along with their anti-thesis. No, my problem, if I may be so filled with pride as to call it my own, is that I know very little of what is good. I question seriously if I have not been altogether stricken (of it) from my youth. Has there been continuity in my development? I should say, that continuity, is perhaps quite a good thing. But, then, I must, first and foremost, question myself as to what in fact do I mean when I employ the word good. I wish that I knew or at least had a sufficient response! The question that I would prefer to ask myself is the question of where. Where in fact are the gaps in my development? Des indices? What might lead me to the carnivorous lips of this hole in time? In space? In me? What may change?
The gaps are perhaps far too numerous to be all filled and I have not killed enough men to fill these pitfalls with/of their spirit. Nor do I believe that a desirable option. I have not yet visited nor invaded lands where the inhabitants be so generous as to give adequately to my need. And, it is therefore, in this idea that I remets en cause la question de rajeunissement. Or perhaps not. Perhaps, rupture may be achieved and I shall simply be awakened, as by the gentle augmenting of the light of the morning on my face exposed to the unequivocal power of that which surrounds me and in spite of its eternal presence I understand it now better. In spite of our mutual existence I am rarely conscious to its presence.
Escorted back into the garden I come to the "epiphinical" realization that I am less prepared for survival than those who had chosen to stay. The doubt, which stood out before me, like a mountain, I climbed and was given the chance to look upon myself for but a moment. With this knowledge was I to be a god or a servant; a philosopher, a writer, a storyteller, or just an honest man fearlessly upholding belief in the impenetrable goodness of emphatic conversation partnered with intensive labor. The question remains before, how do each answer the calling of manhood?
The single-handed battle with the universe.