Part XV - The Ointment

You are now controlled by time. A vine that will move you through all the spectrums of humanity. It will be encouraging, unyielding and compelling but it will drain away a grain at a time and you will forever be its puppet if you fail to win your freedom from its strings. Those who hold you closely cast its sands in your eyes with comments, gestures, and human rituals that signify the rights of passage. Know that these are the symbols of belonging and further proof that you are being quickly moved from who you were meant to be. Fault them not for they are far more lost than you are, they know the grains are draining while they secure the strings even tighter to themselves, because fear to leave the compliant may mean walking alone.

You are feeling sensations that tell you that their idealism is there to support and comfort you. You gladly thank them for your dissection with smiles, coos and grips. There is payment for the atrocities being performed on you, that are the offspring of human frailty and human fears. You are being severed, but implanted at the cut of separation they use a substance known as Love. This is a major compensation for true compliance to the strings. As you lose more and more of yourself, more and more Love is given to you as an antiseptic, a hallucinogenic, and a pain suppressor. Be one of them and you will never be alone is what this application of Love is for.

You are now free to wonder the expansiveness of your limited awareness, and all that you see shines in your mind like the golden treasures on the face of complexity. It bewilders you and investigation needs to be engaged with, for even though you are travailing swiftly through the unimaginable, in yourself is a need to have an answer. But, you will learn in the expansiveness of time that details are needed to have a glimpse at clarity. For in these first sights of creativity there is fallacy. You are being lied to, and your innocence is the price you pay for accepting love, for believing their definition of who you are.

You droll a potion that feels like an elixir to the oldest ones that hold you. They are lost in your eyes for you posses promise and youth. These are the factors that have escaped them and all that is left is wonder and amazement that they were once like you until life got a hold of them. So it is sadly ironic that these are the ones who insist that traditions are more important than who you are and who you will be. These hands will roll you up in the old recipe and slowly bake you in their image. Blame them for they were lost to themselves and they feel that the same must be done unto you. Blame them for never following their own answers.

Yes, coherence is hindered by Love, the tribe, and its rituals. All is being applied to you and all you can do is fuss and flail. You are their babe and you are their invention and you are becoming someone that may crawl the crowded road destined for that place that does not exist. That temple where all feel they will find themselves, but what is there, are wolves who feed on what your tribe left of the true you. Your education has begun and all you want to know is what is around the corner. You can't even walk but you have been taken and hidden from yourself. Remember your crime, you dared to be born.