The Library of My Soul
The Library of My Soul
By Tony DeLorger © 2014
My soul is a library, of books filled with thoughts that define who I am. And into my consciousness the words infuse my thoughts and find place on the virgin landscape of cyberspace, the pages of the new world. I often hesitate, unsure of what I am trying to tell myself, but I have learned to listen, and in the end, to just write. I carry within me the memories and experiences of all who have come before me, the human bloodline through which I exist. More, I carry the memories and experiences of my race, my species, from the primordial pool until this very moment. Within me, this amassed consciousness resides within a shell we call soul: the essence of who I am and from where I have come, physically, mentally and emotionally.
My library is vast and comprehensive, and what I know of it, is fed to me is small, digestible increments, for my brain is only in infancy, like a child of the universe. What I cannot understand lays in waiting, but within an arm's distance. I yearn for more knowledge and often frustrate myself in my quest, yet I know in my heart I reach for the unreachable, knowledge I am unable to contain in my inadequacy. So I methodically write on, moment to moment, uncovering a world of reality to myself and trying to keep in balance my perspective, my own propensity for judgement. How limited I feel in my human state, when knowledge that will transform the world sits but a finger tip away. So I must be patient, must be strong in my resolve to continue my quest for truth.
So much of what I see and have learned is a burden, for the knowledge weakens my heart and keeps hope in a remote place. I do not want to see the reality of humanity, the darkness that haunts our pensive moments and the direction of societies, bleeding. Cynicism then becomes an obstacle of mammoth proportions, a stain on the open hearted potential of our species. I often live in an excruciating conundrum, torn between my paradigms and the negative swell of deeds in the world. I cannot but fall to my own hearts will, perverted by all that I am not, and surrounded by the oppression of narcissism, and the greed of acquisition and power. Not just globally, but individually souls seek this path, choose to live life manipulating and becoming proverbial chameleons in their quest for survival. All this scars my heart, and in sufferance of pain I recede into shadows, seeking the serenity of oblivion in denial.
This is why the path is slow and meticulously undertaken, because I am unable to assimilate too much too quickly, and also to gain balance with what I know and see. For if my perceptions are biased, my words become opinions and cannot transcend the lies within which we live this tedious and complex life. I can but present the truth as I see it, and if the reader is taken away from the mundane into a place of consideration, then at least I have brought possibility to the table.
I have learned to open a door, the flow of words comes to me as fast as I can assimilate them, and I simply teach myself my inner truths by writing them down into eternity. What becomes of them is dependant upon who reads them, which in the end, is not my concern. In all reality and probability, I will be long gone before relevance is found. But that is life.
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