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Spectral Lore
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The Cold March Towards Eternal Brightness
Winter awakes. Cold wind and white drapery everywhere.
I emerge through the ice. Every nerve comes alive in excruciating pain.
Here, the soul fights eternally, inertia and stagnation its nemesis.
The march towards Actualization begins from the plainest of pathways.
Yet behind every step, as heavy or lumpy as it may be, lies a purpose.
What is the fabric that makes the dreams of Day?
The Statue of Self, sculpted from the hardest, finest rock.
A most Noble Warrior.
I see it in a great distance, concealed by mist.
The world cast a small shadow over me.
It is he, the tragic hero, who does not simply want to Grow,
But to Change.
What is, that makes Man?
What is, that makes the Over-man?
Time passes as I cannot ever seem to get close enough.
Yet, eventually, the mist collapses and the figure clears out.
It is crude, without details, contorted into grotesque proportions.
Empty on the inside, a simple shell.
The wind blows softly and shatters it into pieces.
Around the remains, a multitude of streams pour their waters
Flooding the wretched land, carrying me, away with them
Into another place, of Light.
The Seeker is tired to look back.
The gaze must awaken Outwards, to be fully alive.
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Rejoice, Soul
Touch the Ecstatic Truth
Sense the Eternal Now
Awake within the Gaia
The broken, constituent parts were carried along with the stream
Each one is the name of a Virtue.
I reassemble and bury them within the ground.
I still carry the Black Beast, chained inside. And all past rememberance.
What is my ideal then? But a dream with roots in the ground.
Of roots weaved together into a colossal, collective trunk,
That rises, piercing the Sky, into the depths of the Universe.
Throughout the times of perplexity and illusion
We've got some last Gods left, worth keeping
That go by such names as Kindness and Honesty.
I want us to hold swords again
As in the years of the old tales.
But this time, to fight for Dignity and Solidarity.
I want us to look like idiots into the eyes of the Dragons
Like newborns, lying under the sun.
Against the waves of darkness and death
I'm walking with Eternal Brightness in my eyes.
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