Free thought, open to interpretation.
An instant realization, as though opening one's eyes from a pleasant dream, hit me like a block of ice. My reaction time has always been slow, deliberately, learned... a constant numbness to keep emotion's sharp claws at bay. I know what I should feel; there is always immediate awareness. I only seek to stave off pain, and by doing so, have jaded myself from being able to access the simple pleasures of the mind. Sometimes I feel claustrophic in here, where chains are tightened and cell walls are close, unable to move in my purposely debilitated state. There can be no entry, and there can be no escape here. There is but one window looking into the reality I so long for. Such was the Lady who wove her cursed dreams upon tapestries of legend...
It is amazing really, very interesting indeed, how I have lead myself to believe this as my true self; if not in entirety, at least a very real part of my being.
How many years did she founder alone in the darkness? Ignoring all who turned their heads, offering slight gestures of aid, bonds that could lift her back to the light. She was terrified at first, until she became used to the warped images in the gloomy water where she swam. Temptation awaited her in curiosity, muffling her superficial senses and opening strange passages where no other could follow.
She learned to accept horrible place where she had laid rest. If anyone or anything would dare take her back where she belonged, it would haunt her memories eternally. A love, a hatred, how Misery was now a close friend more reliable than any she had ever been, in reality, socially acquainted with. She knew He would keep the pain steady, with no sudden surprises, filling in weakness with a mortar of steel. He would make her strong, invincible, a truly powerful monstrocity, if only she would give up her soul.
Soul... emotion... empathy... things that make one "human". How tempting it was to be called to the final steps of the altar, after aeons of blindly trudging, to be openly offered something as mysteriously certain as complete alienation...
No. A human did not belong here... no... not just any human. Specifically she did not. Too many tears had gone unnoticed, mixing with the water that consumed her. She was aware. Her tears became the water, an ocean of loss mourned by her passing. Belonging meant nothing and temptation was unveiled to show emptiness. This void, it has always been there, hasn't it? What ethereal entity could permanently soothe its cold ache, to heal the wound so long ignored?
Destiny can mean many things, take many forms, just as belief does to us all. Judging is for those too fragile, too small to expand into eternity. Judging is for those who do not wish to see.
Thus, she wanders to some distant call. It had always been there, but now she finally pays attention. She knows what she should feel. With her bondage breaking and feet finally able to move through the terrestrial sludge that had previously been her only comfort, she strains her blinded eyes to see through the fog between her and her goal. Nothing is certain here, above the surface, where the rain erodes the steel at her joints and soothes her scarred and torn flesh. It is as new and mysterious as some relic old and vaguely familiar, awaking wonders deep where nightmares once lurked.
There is a light out there I've been following. Sometimes the fog is devious and obscures it from my vision, disorienting my progress, but its warmth awaits me when I close my eyes. Hope is burned into the back of my eyelids, a seething reminder of where I came from before I took the hand of Misery and followed him into the night. Could I call myself naiive? Could I condemn myself for taking the "wrong" path? Regret is near the apex of human emotion, but it is not a necessity. A fleeting stab, perhaps, but it is made to be overcome with bittersweet rememberance. It will no longer be a part of the bonds that cling to my struggling form. The light I follow is not my dark alter's counterpart. It is merely comfort, the highest I could ever be to the surface. There I will stop and look out unto the vast valley of my turmoil and touch hands with the burning glass before me, and there I will find my motivation, my passion, and my happiness. I will finally look back and find beauty where decay once lay, where regret has given way to accomplishment.
On my knees I fell, shivvers running over my pale flesh, a long awaited stinging finding my tightly closed eyes and pounding temples. There I lay on the floor, dumbfounded by all that has passed. I smiled.
I remember who I was. I know where I came from. I always have. Love is a silly little thing. A silly little infectious thing. If I let you run your course, where will you take me?
I do not yet know. But I will cease to care just about my self. I won't ignore you anymore.
"Mightier than Este is Nienna, sister of the Feanturi; she dwells alone. She is acquainted with grief, and mourns for every wound that Arda has suffered in the marring of Melkor... But she does not weep for herself; and those who hearken to her learn pity, and endurance in hope... And all those who wait in Mandos cry to her, for she brings strength to the spirit and turns sorrow to wisdom."
-Tolkien, The Silmarillion
It is amazing really, very interesting indeed, how I have lead myself to believe this as my true self; if not in entirety, at least a very real part of my being.
How many years did she founder alone in the darkness? Ignoring all who turned their heads, offering slight gestures of aid, bonds that could lift her back to the light. She was terrified at first, until she became used to the warped images in the gloomy water where she swam. Temptation awaited her in curiosity, muffling her superficial senses and opening strange passages where no other could follow.
She learned to accept horrible place where she had laid rest. If anyone or anything would dare take her back where she belonged, it would haunt her memories eternally. A love, a hatred, how Misery was now a close friend more reliable than any she had ever been, in reality, socially acquainted with. She knew He would keep the pain steady, with no sudden surprises, filling in weakness with a mortar of steel. He would make her strong, invincible, a truly powerful monstrocity, if only she would give up her soul.
Soul... emotion... empathy... things that make one "human". How tempting it was to be called to the final steps of the altar, after aeons of blindly trudging, to be openly offered something as mysteriously certain as complete alienation...
No. A human did not belong here... no... not just any human. Specifically she did not. Too many tears had gone unnoticed, mixing with the water that consumed her. She was aware. Her tears became the water, an ocean of loss mourned by her passing. Belonging meant nothing and temptation was unveiled to show emptiness. This void, it has always been there, hasn't it? What ethereal entity could permanently soothe its cold ache, to heal the wound so long ignored?
Destiny can mean many things, take many forms, just as belief does to us all. Judging is for those too fragile, too small to expand into eternity. Judging is for those who do not wish to see.
Thus, she wanders to some distant call. It had always been there, but now she finally pays attention. She knows what she should feel. With her bondage breaking and feet finally able to move through the terrestrial sludge that had previously been her only comfort, she strains her blinded eyes to see through the fog between her and her goal. Nothing is certain here, above the surface, where the rain erodes the steel at her joints and soothes her scarred and torn flesh. It is as new and mysterious as some relic old and vaguely familiar, awaking wonders deep where nightmares once lurked.
There is a light out there I've been following. Sometimes the fog is devious and obscures it from my vision, disorienting my progress, but its warmth awaits me when I close my eyes. Hope is burned into the back of my eyelids, a seething reminder of where I came from before I took the hand of Misery and followed him into the night. Could I call myself naiive? Could I condemn myself for taking the "wrong" path? Regret is near the apex of human emotion, but it is not a necessity. A fleeting stab, perhaps, but it is made to be overcome with bittersweet rememberance. It will no longer be a part of the bonds that cling to my struggling form. The light I follow is not my dark alter's counterpart. It is merely comfort, the highest I could ever be to the surface. There I will stop and look out unto the vast valley of my turmoil and touch hands with the burning glass before me, and there I will find my motivation, my passion, and my happiness. I will finally look back and find beauty where decay once lay, where regret has given way to accomplishment.
On my knees I fell, shivvers running over my pale flesh, a long awaited stinging finding my tightly closed eyes and pounding temples. There I lay on the floor, dumbfounded by all that has passed. I smiled.
I remember who I was. I know where I came from. I always have. Love is a silly little thing. A silly little infectious thing. If I let you run your course, where will you take me?
I do not yet know. But I will cease to care just about my self. I won't ignore you anymore.
"Mightier than Este is Nienna, sister of the Feanturi; she dwells alone. She is acquainted with grief, and mourns for every wound that Arda has suffered in the marring of Melkor... But she does not weep for herself; and those who hearken to her learn pity, and endurance in hope... And all those who wait in Mandos cry to her, for she brings strength to the spirit and turns sorrow to wisdom."
-Tolkien, The Silmarillion