Every time he speaks to another, he makes a deal. For he never could resist making one with his other. He was a man of deals and a man of his own words. He would honor his deals with his life just as much as he would sacrifice the price even if it was something he would take out of himself.
Yet, he was silenced by his deals. His silence was a disease. For the other won’t know what he really thought of. He was demented. A torn out vision he had. His muses have left him to despair. All those voices that he once reckoned as curses, were now silent… He now knew that what he thought of as a curse was his only blessing. He wandered much as any one could wander. He strolled the halls of his imagination looking for his muses. Looking for the creatures of his imaginations. Looking for anything, even monsters. He lusted for imagination, he craved it so much as a devil would crave one sip of eternal light. His imagination, his Art was his salvation. He knew that it is not that he abandoned Art, his Art is the one who has done the abandoning. He rallied thoughts after thoughts behind him… gathering forces that would enhance his own stability, unknowing that his thoughts were empty and his soul was hollow…
He was swooning out of existence. His mind was moving a billion times the speed of light. His mind has wandered into the uncharted lands of his thoughts. He was diving into the depth. and when you go deep into your own mind, you can’t help but lose control. For the soul is deep and full of wonders. Wonders unseen, unheard, and untold of by the living. He was straying into himself. Losing every bit of his own sanity for the sake of his imagination…. for the sake of his Art.
For he remembered what he carved once ago unto the walls of his own heart:”Only through Art that one can find his own salvation.”
He remembered the words….The hidden secret… that lingered deep within him… That he was sacred… His soul was sacred… Yet he had defiled it with all what is mundane… For he should have never left his Art. For Art is genuine and kind… & creation is as lovely as Love itself…. The creation & the creator are one.. and they are most of all… good.
He started remembering himself. He remembered his kin, his people, his home. He remembered how he lost himself to deals. Deals only can be made with those who honor it. Not with Mankind no.. no …
He remembered every deal he made with a poem he wrote. How he would let the poem sip out of his own soul in exchange of immortality, in exchange of Sublimity… His deals were so scared that his poems would live lifetimes upon lifetimes and create others unto themselves. His deals were good deals.
He remembered the joy of the moment. The honor he would find in his home… into the halls of his soul. Where he would welcome every poem as a lost son of his. He remember the journey… where lives caressed lives and worlds embraced worlds into one. He remembered the glory of each embrace… and the story behind each caress.
He remembered his muse that gently held his mind, saying:”Come home, come home…for the journey is troublesome and my heart is lonely… my world is shattered unto the ways I’ve lost you…”
He remembered the tender smile mixed with tears upon the muse’s visage. That smile that opened its own mouth to tell all the existence:”I will not be sad in this world… I will not suffer, for the days are bright and full of rapture…”
He remembered the thousand kisses his soul would give to every poem walking away. Each kiss was a wisdom, a goodbye, a maxim in itself. Each kiss was a hidden secret, an identity, a word of Love that would soar with the poem into the heart of every reader and land upon his own soul.
He remembered his silence, his dignity, his yearning, his reverence to the waving grains of the golden fields of wheat as he caressed his hands upon them as if he was caressing leaves of grass from heaven. He remembered his love for those fields… He remembered how he would happily leave the world in exchange for one caress for that grass. He remembered his love. His love that only came out of Love to Love and to nothing else. To witness the world and touch its boundaries and leave it for a moment with Love that’s worth a thousand lifetime.
He remembered his gaze along the starry skies… How he was mesmerized by every roaming star… He yearned to that gaze… that journey… He remembered how he could almost touch every one… but something was holding him back… He remembered how he tried to widen his gaze…. to embrace the whole horizon…
yet something was holding him back!!!
He then knew how he was destined not to touch the stars…
but to be one…
It was his journey… his gaze…
The way he saw what he saw…
The way he felt what he felt…
The way he created his works of Art…
Everything…
He then understood Creation… finally!
Creation is
a journey… Unending that roots deep within its own ending…
a deal… that was struck deep at the time of its own settlement…
a gaze upon existence that witness existence gazing back…
Creation was the true salvation…
Creation is the road of contemplation…
It was his own story…
and every other story…
and so he had to only do what he did best…
To confine himself in his writings, his readings & most of all… his Creator…
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