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The Boy Who Cried Ghost
'A Grief So Great it Lies in Wait' A grief so great it lies in waitAnd plots invasion unannounced That buried deep, none will unshroud With red hair, twisted wreath of snakes Dance shadows light 'round Choly Lake. 'Til old trees fall and grasses bend Awaits the course of midnight, When From Hell's gates shall pour as on Faust In minor chords, beauty throughout. Through, o'er and under it shall run A healing wind for those undone Like Noah's creatures two by two Rescued from tide, and made anew. And for those missed, instilled upon, A raging grief to forever don. ---------------------------------------------------------------------- My wings are no longer clipped I stretch my limbs
Upon shoulders light The breath of the sea
Fury almighty against
Mother I cry,
Wings spread no longer needed
I miss them
The glow of fire across my back
Splintered my crutch
When will is what
---------------------------------------------------------------------- A toadstool sits on the edge of my lawn, ---------------------------------------------------------------------- Souls cycle every seven days
Underneath us, they're said to dwell
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They say that support is for the weak,
---------------------------------------------------------------------- The course is long, the course is harsh
---------------------------------------------------------------------- Calloused hands grip the tight wheel of death ---------------------------------------------------------------------- So you look to the sky, An unpleasant ringing You think you're so strong ---------------------------------------------------------------------- It was dark out. The sun had just set, but already its effervescent glow had faded into a dark frozen blue. The stars were not shining, although there were no clouds to shield them, nor fog to dim them. The trees on the bank were swaying only gently in the frigid wind. The brooks were frosting slowly, creeping onto the banks and above, until they reach the trunks of the first trees. I lay there on the silent grass, still as the night sky above me, breathing the perfect breeze that fell against my cheek and withered back like the tides across a sandy beach. Small bits of frost latch gently onto my eyelids, and I flutter them now and then, casting small chunks of ice up at the sky. After some moments, I grow tired, and let the ice cling. Lids droop, but the vision doesn't change. The night sky still screams its silent call inside me. I am awaiting its reawakening. Then stars start to appear. They twinkle first like spectres in false twilight, then reveal themselves like the blossoming of marigolds in the spring. The light shines brightly from them. I stand up, peering at their fullness. Around me, the dim valley is cast again in various angles of shadows and tints. The dark driven beneath the rocks, blades and trunks of trees. I turn my head around me, glancing at the peculiars of this strange place, for it was not the place I laid down in. Suddenly, my legs twitch. They take strides. I am walking, and my mind tries hard to comprehend why. It searches for the essence of my physical being. It finds none. Soon, I stop, before me lies a glimmering figure. She approaches silently, walking as if on air, a pale figure, radiating a supernatural glow about her. Her golden eyes look brightly into me. She seems void of expression, yet her eyes tell all. A smirk develops, but she does not smile. And her lips are silent still. Her silvery hands point to a book that she is holding. It is a small red book, its pages yellowed by age. A bright white reads on its cover: Hume. She laughs now; with her eyes, she laughs a thousand laughs, it seems plain to me, but I know not how. Then the ground around her ripples back, and with supernatural grace, she ascends into the night sky. I follow her. My muscles seem driven by a force from without. The world around me turns bleak white. It fuzzes and falters, bursting forth in sudden eruption of brilliance. Though I am blind, I feel the wind against me still, heating my skin, burning me. But I can do nothing to stop it. And then suddenly, the world changes hues again. A red tone superimposes on the blank white of an instant before. I see her before me, a dazzling reflection of blood. Of the essence of our beings. Her skin seems only to reflect what is around her, not truly a mirror, but very like one. Where ever we are, it is truly warm. She proceeds to gesture, no words are spoken between us. The book she was carrying had withered through our flight. The smell of burnt pages already past. She takes my hand and embraces me. I turn my head, puzzled and inquisitive. I suddenly see myself from a vantage point beyond. My mind pulses and I try to move my hands. One pair of hands clasp against my chin, another pair of hands clasp around her gleaming figure. And she bends down toward my neck in this primal embrace. Slowly, gently, surely, she starts what she intends to finish. Silver teeth tear my flesh, slide gracefully, deep into me, flooding the wound with euphoric light. I no longer see either of myself. For one moment, I understand myself; I understand her. Yet images of the world start to fade, obliterated by the red, until all I can see is a warm blood red over the night sky. My eyes gradually swiveled forward, and I look into the sun through flesh. The blood of my veins still flow within me. I open them wearily to the light of day. ---------------------------------------------------------------------- Once there was a young boy who didn't believe in ghosts. He had been leading a normal life, not particularly
eventful, but not completely boring either. The boy never believed in God,
Hell, ghost and everything else supernatural. He thought that they were just
conceptions created by man to fill a void in their existance. A void that had
been created with the first asking of the question, "Why are we here". No, the
void has always been there, but it was man's powerful intellect which first
brought it into the light. And man has suffered for centuries debating
this question of existance. The boy understood why religion had been formed.
Faith was neccessary to ease humanity into accepting the fact that some
questions just cannot be answered. But he never needed it, faith. To him it was
for the weak, and in this secular age, he had plenty of alternative ways to
lead his life. ---------------------------------------------------------------------- Sometimes you wake up from a dream shaking - hot and warm. Things that seemed real moments before have suddenly faded into cold fantasy. But you ask yourself whether you're actually seeing more clearly than before. Was that dreamlike state you experienced just as physically real as the what you percieve now? Are the sheets that you now cling tenaciously to really there? Or is it like, like the dream, only a figment of the imagination. Was it the past future or present that you saw, or all of them at once? The mind rapidly wanders only to settle on the most rational answer. It was only a dream. But what makes a dream. What makes a wish? The rational answer again. Our minds work on association. Any desire becomes manifest as a series of recollections strung together. We dream of the future because we watch movies and read books describing the future. A better answer, dreams are the source of all inspiration and spiritual being. Not exactly answering the same question, but it makes more sense. Dreams are like flowers that grow and wither in your mind. They sing of love, cry of misery, and whispers after the muse of imagination. I wish I had more dreams. I get up from my bed, touching the bland textures of wooly carpeting beneath my feet. I stretch and yawn loudly. My mouth smells horrible! With laxed strides, I make my way to the bathroom to brush my teeth. Looking at the mirror on the wall, I see a dim visage of my own reflection. Dimmed by the transistion from wonder to reality. I sneer, make believe that I was arnold schwarzeneggar playing conan a few thousand years ago. No, that can wait until tomorrow at the arcade. My teeth are yellow from not brushing the night before. I had instantly fallen asleep. The warmth and comfort of my bed had made no difference then. The exhaustion I had gone through was too incredible to allow a moment of conciousness. And that was when I saw golden feet taking strides in the ocean, slowly licked by torqouise splashes. Refreshed became the mind, eager to see more of this strange new world. Another vision lays upon me, meshed with the image before, a golden flower swaying in the wind. My mind races, daring to see more, and again and after, a collage of images explode out into me. Whatever two dimensional or three dimensional suddenly was another collection and not time. It was one vision sharing images from different times, different instances in one blinding flash. It was like your life running before your eyes, except it only came to stay. Wonderful and breathtaking to see so many things at once, to touch and feel as several people to be timeless and omnipresent. The mirror glistens back yellow. But it's only a dream of course. A dream within a daydream. Ask me again one day and I might recall what it was really about. ---------------------------------------------------------------------- "Behold then all human faculties developed,
memory and imagination in full play, egoism interested, reason active, and the
mind almost at the highest point of its perfection. Behold all the natural
qualities in action, the rank and condition of every man assigned him; not
merely his share of property and his power to serve or injure others, but also
his wit, beauty strength or skill, merit or talents: and these being the only
qualities capable of commanding respect, it soon became necessary to possess or
to affect them…It now became the interest of men to appear what they really
were not. To be and to seem became two totally different things; and from this
distinction sprang insolent pomp and cheating trickery."
The root of all evil, as Jean-Jacques Rousseau describes it, is the invention of property. Whether intellectual, material or an ability one might possess, property distinguishes men from each other. It makes men unequal. To thwart this inequality, men invented lies, drew lines of social status that were not there before, and became in lust of 'commanding respect' from his fellow peers. In a way society became like a jungle for men, where only the fittest, in ways of command, survived. What would life be like without the concept of property? If all things were shared, would everything really be as peaceful as Rousseau describes? "Men were at a state of peace." He claimed, before the invention of property. Yet, the algae that lived on rocks near the ocean waves fought amongst themselves, even before the first man was concieved. They fought to claim rocks, they fought for sunlight. Nature is itself a state of constant change, to be at peace would be to never have happened. The algae fought for the rocks, baboons fight for their mates, the great chain of being, from the lowest life form up, seems already like a state of heirarchy. It seems that evil is imbedded into the very nature of our beings. Animals in the wild truly compete for their own survival. They are at heart greedy and selfish, most especially when their own lives are at risk. We, on the other hand, have enough command over nature to be ensured our survival. Why then do we compete at all for an artificial social status. For us, the term survival has been replaced by immortality. Immortality in historical texts and other documents is the closest we can get to becoming truly deified. What motivates us to corrupt actions is not property, as Rousseau argues, but rather, the concept of an all powerful, all knowing being. As in Milton's 'Paradise Lost', the aspiration to become 'like God' drives us to evil. Adding a God to the list of creatures and objects that inhabit this earth only forces a categorical structuring of that list. One of the definitions of God is that he is all powerful, a being in complete command over every other being, and therefore, higher up in 'being' than other living creatures are. From there, it succeeds that Humans are before animals because we can control a greater part of nature, and so on and so forth. Yet, if one would even consider adding the concept of Chaos Theory, where one small thing affects another until a whole chain of events leads to a universal transformation of situation, then a macroscopic virus, not even classified as a living object by modern scientists, has control over life all over earth. Without a God, the state of nature is competitive, yet only for the sake of survival. Adding even the slightest hint of Deism brings out an evil, beyond the understanding of the seemingly thoughtless creatures of this world.
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