As it gets stripped to the bone

Actors following along through a script, one that is familiar so that we can make sense of it.

This is how reality unfolds, in a limited and predictable manner, when all safe bets are off know that you have entered a new chapter, in the story of the one and only existence we simultaneously encounter.

The actors are none other than ourselves, playing along within this game of charades.

The script happens to be our beliefs, perspective and so called knowledge, our habits and our vices, our gifts and our desired actions, they accumulate in the ego it seems.

The character played by the actor indeed, constantly rotating within a similar spiral and in denial of the fact that they are in fact in a cycle.

On point I day most certainly, for it is ever so predictable that I shall write upon this very day as I sip a black coffee.

Alas, the play of life always ignites an ember.

And when the fuse strikes it can very well end up as a disaster, for then we are subjected to the abyss, nothingness within the absolute.

As our masks and our entire realities go up in flames, we dare say that what unfolded was absolutely nessecary.

For then we can reel back in our void projections and our false intentions, listen to the voices within that are beckoning our attention.

They are saying, “pick me, pick me, I’ll finally grant you serenity and peace, simply follow this progressive thought with ease, do indeed, take my lead”.

Bah, those wretched scoundrels, attempting to further confuse, set a bomb, which I must later on diffuse.

It is clear to see at this very moment, that these thoughts of ours are in possession, we simply do not know it.

The remedy alone is to be still and concious of this simple matter of the fact.

Then fade away and allow yourself to no longer be intact, for it is ironic, certainly it is, the pleasure that encapsulate your essence momentarily when you resist no longer and give in.

Yet that is a rather difficult mountain to tread, for in order to acquire stillness you must first burn the script and then lop off the fantasy characters head.

Then you are alone, with all that there is and ever will be, one with the rain and the wind, one with the infinite journey, at last, free.

Something that still evades me, as you are not able to see.

Yet when it finally reckons, there will be no one to hear from any longer, certainly not from me nor the ghosts of what once was within a small tale upon the grand bookcase of infinity.

Sending you light through love,


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