Part XXIII - The Clinging

The physiological umbilical chord is a many layered device that can stifle the advance from the yard of familiarity. There is an aspect on emotional clinging to the things that are simply understood. You may feel that the wide world and its many textured realities are more exciting, however, taking steps towards them needs a huge portion of bravery and self-belief. The fences that keep these possibilities clear from the normal, seem like protective barriers from the edges of the abyss on the other side of the easy and the conformed. In the youthful time you will venture now and then but seldom would the challenge be without the company of your fellow mercenaries in the wars against complacence.

Applying a constant pressure on apathy is what character is made of. That substance that needs the eternal experiences of existence to grow stronger and greatly varied in personality. You may damage parts of yourself in the ring of ultimate challenges, but with the gleam of resiliency the damage will be left quickly behind as you spurt in growth as a result of facing the gauntlet of the denial that your tribe has tried to bridle you with. If reliance on yourself becoming the assured blade, the conscious dawning will occur within the epiphany that fear and guilt is the greatest treasure that one generation gives to the next. That thread that distorts perception while it shreds your passions and desires into splinters and confusions.

Soon your heart will be attacked by a strange and wielded steel. This new force strikes you with a sickness that lingers like a deadly plague in the ancient town called affection. The way those eyes see you and the way that smile teases, hold you in a grip that is vice like. Your words scatter and their meaning is incoherent and the laughter of the rest in attendance makes you feel unorthodox and unusual. Someone tells you that you have fallen in love and those words explain the feeling oh so well. For you feel you are falling into a mist of fantasy, that seam between the the thought and the materialisation of such. There is this pain in your gut and it seems that a migration of butterflies is taking place throughout your interior. Please is your plead, but it remains silent and withheld.

Everything is so strange when all the concepts of life come tumbling down upon you like an avalanche of fresh powdered snow. You feel buried alive and air is the hardest thing to grasp when theses ideals start to bind you like a giant python from the outer worlds of the human dilemma. You feel so lost as time runs strangely slow in an almost deliberate intention to rake you through the hot embers of the eternal flame called life on the planet earth. You misunderstand everything and the brutalisation of those stories you were told give you the feeling that hope is a by-product of the comfortably domesticated. You can see that lies are ramped and you can feel yourself beginning to persevere yourself in the jars of descriptions that hurt less than the truths that seem to be flowering.

This umbilical cord winds around your neck and soon you are not getting all the air from the changing winds that have whirled through these youthful situations. You have fought the fight, you have the wounds to show for it, but do you truly know if you have won or lost? But perhaps, those words are nothing more than different edges of the same experience, the same moment of the part of life that can easily be distorted. If you can return from these battlefields with the understanding that reality is nothing more than a painting done with the tools that are available, then you have passed through these turmoiles with the understanding that life is perception and you are nothing more than a visitor.