The distance between my entries is frightening -- even to myself. Time flies so quickly when one finds oneself enraptured by many a project, many an endeavor. I last recorded, I see, the night on which I found a fallen... thing. How odd it all still seems, and how vivid the taste. The words themselves cause my senses to stir, and my body to ache to taste the ambrosia again. But, alas, I cannot seem to find in any text, in any reference, in any dream what that, that, that carcass was! It's frustrating... yet... I sleep well in knowing that I had the quality of the encounter I had.
In the days that followed that occurrence, I developed. I developed in all capacities, and it seemed that the horrific blackness was finally quelled in its insatiable hunger and demands. Indeed, it seemed the two, that blackness and that unknown flesh, seemed quite chipper with one another's company. Thus I began my next role in this life -- the role of the curious scholar, the eye that watches with unblinking tenacity forever and ever the world and the life within that world. This is my role, and I took to the role (how, indeed, I understood it as my own, I will never quite understand, but will incessantly speculate till all the work of Gaia-kind is turned to dusty motes) without fear, but rather, an instinctive eagerness. I donned the Wounded God's pelt, therefore, I became the Wounded God. I had gone through my Harrowing of Hells, and stepped forward into the Enlightened courtyard of my own soul, transfigured by hunger, by pain, by desire and arisen, tallis-shawled, as the Witness; the Universe's own Metatron, transcribing into my own heart the truths, the lies, and the trivialities of what transpired -- time does not touch me, distance does not mire me, circumstances do not convolute me.
Yet, in this avatar, this body, I am transfixed, so as to keep within myself (how ironic that I use that term), a token of my self. My catharsis is incomplete, I realized (or perhaps only now realize); I still seek to retain formality, humanity, distinctive identity. Perhaps I was seeking Buddhahood, but... I do not think the Buddhas would laud these attempts of mine, at whatever goal I have set, its title irrelevant.
Upon this discovery, that I myself seek to retain individuality, incomplete perception, I descended back into the life of man, into the land of Gaia. I lived among its peoples, its cities, and dwelt there, on the fringes (for the cracks of my realization ran deep, and upon recognition of my sickening need for humanity, I fell, emotionally, into a sea of self-loathing and depression, thus depriving me both of my Purpose and of my Need; for I could not look upon the perfectly fragmented identities of others and partake in their social exchange without my heart churning to rid myself of what I was -- yet, it was because of what I was that I, indeed, what I was, composed of disparate pieces of unscrupulous aspects, and thus learned the lesson: one cannot seek to destroy any piece of the self, regardless of its attributes, if one ever hopes of attaining any simulacrum of happiness; instead, one must transmute it, alter it, fortify or deprive it, but one must never, nor could they possibly ever, destroy it).
It was during that time of weeping that the Animated came. Such awkward things, yet, I can feel life there. Humanity, devised, working, mimicking (later encounters with Gaia's finest would confirm these suspicions of mimicry), all in little childish fashions. This event perplexed and bewildered me.
A hunger unlike the blackness's, girded itself, and forced my avatar forward, into the world, to discover what was taking place. I now find myself obsessed with these things. Yet, I am, as in my current state, unable to function adequately to sate my hunger, my drive -- I cannot piece together this puzzle alone. Thus my days within the Captain's Crew and within the G.I.B. stirred in my memory, my self-kept trinket before the Exaltation.
Meditating on these memories and these matters, it has occurred to me that we need to understand what these things are, their variety, their disparateness. Understand why they have taken the forms they do, why they behave the way they do, and why they in fact manufacture these rings of power. They resonate within our souls -- the blackness fears it, for, I have read in its meager thoughts, it suspects that should we refine our knowledge of the Animated, I can bind it fully. Whatever function the rings possess that allows the link between matter and spirit, once understood, will thus allow Gaia to rid itself of the malevolence that rears its head from the aether-side, and cast it back.
But that is not my goal (not my objective, though the research therein will delight me to no end); no, it is, my goal to gather these separated facets of the Animated, these facts that are expressed through behavior and host, and allow myself time to conclude their essence. I want to study them. I want Gaia to educate itself, before destroying what it does not understand.
This, this is my question, to all those that care to render pen to paper:
Is Gaia ready to delve into this matter, and archive what it finds? Or will it only crush it beneath its heel?
I will endeavor to make this question as apparent as possible to those I encounter -- if they feel they are ready, I will begin assembling them together, and begin my process. We will learn, we will benefit, we will commune.
That is my hope.
View User's Journal
Danse de la Terreur
What more than a simple log of adventure?
 |
