The Exiled Spirit

*Thump Thump…. *Thump Thump… the sound of my own heart is the only thing distinguishing the line between what has become my existence and the infinite blackness that is my hell. Do I deserve this? Should I have offered merit to the consequences that were sure to follow in close suit as a counter-measure to my destructive behavior? Perhaps I did give them consideration, and perhaps upon weighing what was sure to transpire against the realization of my will I decided simply… f u c k consequences. It was my will after all. It has only been a mere short while, and already the madness is setting in. I’ve been exiled to a darkness that is unimaginable to any who have experienced light. My eyes are useless here. The utter stillness of the ancient air in this place, coupled with the all-consuming shadow, makes it impossible to discern an opened eye from a closed eye.

It is in my best interest not to move, as I discovered on the first day of my confinement. The sensation of being ignorant to the size of your cage, and yet knowing that there is a cage, is not comforting. I cannot see the walls, nor can I feel them.. and yet I know they are there. Are the walls beyond the sight of my mind’s eye, or are they just beyond my reach? I suppose they are where I accept them to be. The shadow assaults, it destroys and distorts. Knives made of fear, guns of ignorance. It turns the mind in on itself as it recoils in horror knowing that the tools of sensation, of information, have been corrupted and are now subject to the devil’s whims.

My sight was lost on the first day, I could not see what I longed for and it was lost. The other senses were the same… each fell to the demons that did not give them what they wanted. My hands search for grass, for fresh dew or a delicate flower. They found neither and succumbed to a world of roughness that rendered all other textures inert. Listening closely, attentively for whispers of a better place, of an escape… following false winds to dead ends and never discovering sweet songs or playful streams, my ears left me. Oh how I lament the rush of fresh meat and warm bread. Both taste and smell abandoned me on the same day.. forever entwined. Initially I had naught but the pungent odor of death, from the many who came here before me. Refuge was never found in burying my tongue in the rough, damp, tasteless floor beneath me, no solace offered and my prized possessions departed.

The absence of reliable physical senses dealt a heavy blow, but the most maddening loss was the perception of time. It’s departure opened the gates of hell and tossed me deeply within. The compass of existence stripped, the world became a shell turning infinite circles with neither goal nor origin. Newton has no place here. Not even physical death can save me, my body has no use and the lack of its existence would shed no warm light on the blackness. How I long for illumination, if it were only in my power I would consume this place in blinding light. If not light, then surely I can squelch the flame of my existence as easily as the almighty blowing out a dimly lit candle. The absence of this void would surely be preferable, my mind’s eye weak and distressed as it is.

Such foolishness, my stay here has been short. It must be true as my wits are well enough to express dissatisfaction. I accept my fate for the exchange was fair. This is a place I knew I would find myself… at some point. Resisting what I knew would pass contributes nothing to the present. Had I only given more stock to the things I loved in life, in the stead of my will. It seems foolish, in retrospect, to have jeopardized my inner peace in exchange for something so easily taken for granted. Peering back, through the narrow neck of the broken hourglass, I can see myself growing in spirit… until the object of my love is mercilessly stripped from my desperate, longing arms. The lesson seems folly. Could it be that all things held on high are to be lost in some divine effort to show our wandering spirits, that which cannot be seen from any other angle? What could be gained from such a miserable transpiration? It lands a blow so heavy that all who are dealt fall into this bottomless abyss. The shadow consumes and births a complete and utter loss of self.

Am I sitting or standing? Am I awake or asleep? When I considered a tree, I thought of one for what seemed an eternity and found myself a tree. The wind blew through my branches and my flesh was full of ants, beetles, and other creatures. My health was good. The sky above moved steadily as the sun warmed and fed me. Birds sang into my leaves, squirrels chased one another along my many arms. The life of a healthy tree was a good life. There was much to contemplate, and the view of the world was significantly different to my own. As a tree, you love all that is around you. Roots take from the earth, but not too much. You want there to be food for your many children that grow in the same soil just beneath your branches. This was familiar to me, though the feeling was so buried that the familiarity was fleeting…. But it was enough. Even in this distant hell, I was able to connect to the tree. It held me, enabled me. What a power! To connect to a tree from this lightless chasm, a boundless fortune that is shared by all!

Even in this hell I can still feel it. Perhaps more pronounced without the interference of my other senses… the connectivity we have is powerful and cannot be stripped away by the shadows. The only escape I have is through a door of connection to others who are free, that is, more free than me. I live through them now… from a distance, but vicariously. If that connection could only open a door from this hell to theirs, for surely their hell is a better place than mine. If logic prevailed, that would be probable I suppose. After all, I am one of many and the likelihood that my existence is the apex of punishment would be unlikely at best. That thought gives me peace… and that fact alone proves my logic to be accurate, for how could the darkest pit have any room for inner peace. This is my damnation after all, and how arrogant I would have to be to assume that I would be so effective at damning myself to a hell worse than all others. Why am I here if this place is of my own device? I knew I would come here, but was willing to visit if it meant the realization of my will. This was the prize, I did know of this place when I accepted the course but was unaware of the tool given to me as a reward for offering myself to another. By connecting with that power, I can now find it and connect to it in all things. The abyss is no punishment; these shadows are here to elucidate the gift bestowed; a gift so amazing!

I remember when my life was full of love, when my inner peace knew no bounds and all desires were satiated. It was early, before the tests. Life for others, I was connected to them and did not know why beyond my physical sense of higher purpose. That love which I assumed lost has gone nowhere. It was not exclusive; as I contemplate the world above it can be seen flowing in all things. What a marvelous existence! To think, here in this pit of despair, I have actually discovered such a thing. Even in the worst hell, we cannot be stripped of our ability to love and to connect with all, and because of this fact… our existence truly is blessed.

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