Folly of the Footprints of a Fool's Fine Fingers
I must admit I love the lucidity that comes with the lack of sleep I've decided to embrace for the first time in a long time. I love the crisp thoughts and how naturally they flow and connect with one another. By some old forgotten ritual I've been anointed with the oil of Puck, and it's gotten me to an oft lost point of introspection that delves through the center and into the outer world.
I recalled a dream I had a long time ago today, quite out of the blue. It involved myself and other random characters in my subconscious dream world, and having this complete divine mastery over ourselves. This ability to chanel energy anyway we saw fit. Electric blue pillars of energy crawled along our spines, yellow and blue sunbursts fired from our hands, electric beetles flew at will alone, auras of pure energy, powers of flight, transmission, telepathy, creation, destruction, everything. We were a world of gods. But as the dream progressed I could feel myself waking up. And as I did, my world began to dim, and I began to lose this control I had over all of this natural energy that coursed through me. The others didn't though, they were just players on my stage. I was the only one being torn away from my world, because I was the only real one in it. And it scared me, as I found I could only create tiny sparks from the tips of my fingers, because the characters I had created were suddenly more powerful than I was. While I was being torn away from my world, they were suddenly the creators, playing lightning down their bodies, through their hair, out of their centers and into the world.
I suppose it does make sense though. Shakespeare's characters did outlive him, and though he created them, it's his characters that control and captivate the audience. And I wonder if this is how a god, if one exists, must feel. This irrational powerlessness that his creations can also create and control. If there's any grain of truth in the christian bible, it would certainly make sense then, as a god unable to accept his creations' collective will to power decides to blind them into being powerless sheep, blind, deaf, defenseless, and cured by the hand that cut them. It would make sense that he would be jealous of us, for having the only ability that he himself has. Formed in his image, as it says, prideful, envious, greedy and wrathful. Or are those the deadly sins? I forget.
Nietzsche, who seems to play a large role in these cotton ball conversations I have with myself, goes on to state: "Fellow creators the creator seeks." What a god that must be, who doesn't wish for servitude or for spineless faith, but for company to join him. For friends, to experience the one way we find ourselves breaking from the abyss and changing the world around us, the same materials and the same world, but now ourselves shown within it.
Though the abyss is still where it all starts. Our world is only how we perceive it, for we live in our minds and not in our world, and in everyone's life, the world ceased to exist before we were born, and will cease to exist after we die. From whence we came, we return. It's the bond between all things, our collective unconscious, our worlds' chi, the tao, god, superstrings, whatever you want to call it, there is a unifying bond. The magicians of old said so, the alchemists said so, the buddhists said so, the priests said so, Jung said so, and finally, the physicists are beginning to take note.
I am he, as you are he, as you are me, and we are all together.
I don't really know what sparked this, but I hope it lasts. In old irish lore they say out in the fields there is a Queen and a fool, and if you are touched by either, you never recover. You may recover from the touch of any other Faery, but not from the fool.
Guide me trickster, into the sun, and make me the air.
Let's explore the abyss together.
The universe equals 0, which is to say it's everything and nothing.
Every circle starts with a point, you know.
And the point of this?