Memories of the forgotten moment...

“Memories of the forgotten moment from which my soul is constructed”
I close my eyes and open myself upon the darkness. The reality that I built for myself like a black blanket covering my entire body. I used to lay on my stomach, now I lay on my side, trying to lay on my back. There used to be such a sensation whenever I rubbed my belly. I feel like Dorothy upon finding the sham of the Wizard of Oz. Where are those sensations? Where is the discovery? The untrodden path, safflower fields at dawn, crimson like my blood pouring from my knees and my elbows and my nose. Deconstructing the rustic Italian landscape behind me, the neon pathways of dark slums, multilayered with all sorts of alleyways to crawl through, all kinds of fire escapes leading to more apartments and fire escapes. The outdoor corridor, gazing down at the water and cliff. Illuminated by one light, free for the world to see. Dreams of this place, the inescapable memory of this place. Is it because that is the nature of life? You enter one doorway, remain in the outdoor corridor, and wonder, which door should I go back into the house through? Two totally different perspectives, one totally inescapable inevitability. The inevitability of sameness, of fractal geometry. Have I stumbled upon a jewel, or rather is this sameness a curse? Is the Truth really that much stranger than fiction? To expand from linear thinking into a more cyclical perspective is like going from fishing to becoming the boat, the fish and the fisherman. To analyze the very depths of the ocean. To seek the bounties of the dark blue, invisible treasures at the bottom. What does it mean to merge? What does it mean to love unconditionally? The existence of such a term is like accepting that everything is completely unrelated. However, I can feel you. I can feel me, you can feel me. We mutually see this world. What we see beyond our eyes is a marginal viewpoint. Everything… just is. What constructed my soul, dear God, and what lines and circles make me up? Am I like my skin? A conglomeration of oily and dry triangles working together to achieve satisfaction and experience? Am I Nietzsche? Is it a struggle between the strong and the weak? Am I a struggle between what I want to be and what will make me better off? Or am I always just doing what I will be doing? I remember nearly nothing. I believe in nearly nothing. One thing I do believe in, is the helplessness of life. Can we really all be expected to rise above and find the Truth? Can we really tread the many dimensions of reality and become what we are? I am not what I am, I am merely a figment of the collective imagination that we call reality. What objectivity is there to judge other people upon? What price is there to pay for the search? At the heart of it all, I wonder, could Ayn Rand have been right? The only truth of any matter lies within striving for self. Beyond that, what ethics or morality is there to accommodate the heart to? Must we pay our dues to all those who have done so much for us? Or is that due such a daunting amount that we must abandon it? I live my life as I expect others to live it. Perhaps that will do better to explain what I believe. It goes beyond the Golden Rule. What choice is there to make besides the one that will move us in the wrong direction? I give you the choice. I give my life itself the choice. Be it joy that I seek or even pain, the choice is beyond me. The choice, like the underwater currents, the hyper space travel of the ocean of H2O. I am only bathed in Air, and though we may never touch until I die. I believe that we have never moved from that very point of pure empathy. I believe that we cannot harvest sins or virtues. They are entities within themselves that seek no guidance. I've already merged with everything that is. I'm already a part of it. So then I ask again, what is the point of morality? Are we so helplessly betrothed to virtue that we forgot about the evolving prenuptial agreement of forgiveness? I am so afraid of making a mistake that I have forgotten what a mistake is at all. I am so bound by rage that the only thing that can help me is compassion. But at the heart of it all. There is nothing but protection. I am a valkyrie and a star gate for the many and the few. I am a leader and reaper of sorrows. I am the transplanted ineptitude of those who seek guidance. I am the swirling fires of retribution in the form of a fire agate or a ruby. I am beyond the normal happiness of people. I am beyond time and beyond the moment of creation. I've forgotten what it truly means to be free. But, because I've forgotten, I have planted the seeds of Truth again, and realized that I am not free. I am not free in any sense of the word. Only by not being free will I see the Truth. Only then will I be able to create something so unbelievably beautiful and delicious and spontaneous that people will listen not with their ears and see not with their eyes but view with their minds and absorb with their minds the very essence of life. Creativity within a crystalline matrix, the only way to reach out and discover. The crystalline matrix shattering, the only way to find out nothing exists but what you preconceive. Yes, to be broken is the only way to discover the infinitesimally small proportion you hold to the whole. Our shattered pieces find that to be one with everything also means to be nothing. Everything is in a constant retrograde and we're seeing backwards by looking forwards. We're listening to the past and hearing the future. We are consumed by what we could be. When it is already done.

Re: Memories of the forgotten moment...

reading this feels both like a turning through a labyrinth and an unraveling of a knot. Some parts feel disconnected and disjointed like i fell through a floor on to a different level.

i was thinking of a book 'The Biology of Belief' while reading, though not sure why. i think some of the questions reminded me of the ideas presented in the book.

i love the questions and the answers that followed where very different to my own. I found the thought about not being free very provoking.

this felt like a journey into identity and that draws me like a magnet, seeing how i will be writing about identity for my NaNoWriMo.

what have you thought about this piece after posting? there is so much in there that you could pull out and open up more, or even use as a freefall prompt

I close my eyes and open myself upon the darkness.

brilliant first line, totally didn't think it was going where it went though

the image has the cool 3d effect as the small insert (sometimes it looks like a figure is walking into the picture and that looks like half a face with glasses)

thank you so much for this dive!
xx azyh

Re: Memories of the forgotten moment...

Hello master-architect,

I have been pulled in strongly by the first sentence and the first third of the text. There is something surrealistic about all the different places and images, I don't fully get it, but it's fascinating to follow the voice in what feels like a very free flow of consciousness.

I also found it interesting to follow the stream of thoughts and questions. Again I didn't understand everything fully, but I enjoyed the flow of language and thoughts and questioning very much. An interesting piece! Something that goes against my reading habits. It's rather an essay then a story, so I had to get into a different mode of perception and I liked that.