In The Still Of The Night III
Quietly, silently, mute. The reign of terror slowly comes to an end and what remains then is a silence deafening in it’s display of creation. As all things shout from the very bottom of their being, “I live!” so too does the end of the reign of terror which Man obligingly unleashed upon the destitute and dying. Now that the zombies are being put to bed, what then?
What then will become unleashed upon those poor souls whose only wish is to make it to the next birth alive and if lucky, just a bit less burdened in the baggage department. But that is another chapter due to the print factory at some later date as yet undisclosed.
Along with the therapy of self-reflection along comes a spider to inject it’s prey with but another small dose of nullifying poison. Scrambling for peace can only hasten the poison’s effects until and at long last, the fitful sleep of pain and anguish comes to yet one more close. Though the washing machine plays out each spin cycle with the utmost of disregard, the clothes eventually comes out clean.
Man, in wearing it’s finest, continues to thrust it’s self upon the Universe in a never ending quest of delayed dominion. Questing should never be mistaken for achievement. Try as Man does, the effects of mortality does indeed take it’s toll - especially upon the sick and injured of which there is no small shortage.
We are moving beyond the so-called Age of Reason along with all of it’s mental instability. Serenity does not come cheap and so the cheap end up on the wrong side of the tracks scratching their heads in wonderment as to how the hell they are now going to get home. Home isn’t where one throws one’s hat, it’s everywhere and so in spoiling the nest Man becomes that which is sown.
The poison has spread quickly and wickedly consuming much more than expected. But that is the nature of dis-ease, to endure pain and suffering in order to gain the experience of stability and balance which goes a long way in helping one to forget that this is all just a field of dreams in which one may play out the role of a duality. “I am, therefore I exist.” What folly!
As existence comes knocking on our door, we stand muted in wonderment as the entertainment unfolds right before our very eyes. What wicked fun!
Soiling the nest is indeed wicked.
When we cover and suppress our nature we become the experience we endure in order to learn the hard way. Some things are best left unsaid, undone and given no existence at all. Running this way and that we never seem to find the right time nor even enough time to remain in the stability and balance of our own being. Experience requires an outside perspective and so, as we wander aimlessly about the universe looking, we leave home and board the train to nowhere but going very, very fast.
As the whirlwind comes to a close landing on our feet becomes an impossible struggle. Against all odds we find the odds through which our being takes root and flight. Playing the game of ‘Zombie in the Night’, we care not but for our lust, our unquenchable desire to be full-filled.