Disconsciousness, those twilight moments when the ‘un’ flanks awareness in an act of defiance, destabilisation, fleeting usurpation – ‘you shall not silence me’; when clarity breaks ever so briefly into the Self’s dimly lit hall of mirrors -a dust spangled beam of sunlight through darkened clouds of familiarity- spot lighting a singular truth, ephemeral and magnificent, all too soon dissipating as a whisper in a cavernous hall. Not gone –never gone- but spread so thinly as to thereafter linger, unintelligible but present, incomprehensible but heard, and it is all the more tortuous; just beyond the finger tips, a beloved behind the final 3 wooded inches. But then –perhaps- a glimmer remains in the mind’s eye, that final reflection before only the dust remains, a whisper’s shadow: that ‘Happiness’ is a compounded effort, a lie to enact, tricking the mind –your mind- but no less real for it. Like grief, blind fortune moves us not - we seek a reason for what befalls us so that it matters, Life’s indifference a tonic and poison to all we feel, yelling in the corner of our mind ‘it happened, but not To You’ ... perhaps that is as it should be. Perhaps seek not happiness in the external, but only the sentiment dwelling within, that compounded lie – it is no more real, nor less. Outside your windowpane are only trees and grass, ‘Life’ is the mind’s creation –created by it, for it, forced upon it ... it matters not, it is neither more nor less true. Perhaps not, perhaps that is the lie, awareness’s vengeance, a blind undiscriminating retribution for the transgression it suffered, eradicating disconsciousness and its discontents, clarity be damned –the lie of many is truth, the truth of one heresy- and damn your insolence. But away now, so many more fleeting truths to stumble upon only to miss, and I am weary. Peace now, I am emptied.
