I stare at the surface of a darkened pool,
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the reflection of a distorted image gazes back.
Succession of chills run up my spine. Emanations
of time’s assault I do not want to see. Too many
memories built up like silt at the bottom of a pond.
Don’t go there...
My eyelids close.
The ghostly companions lay in waiting like a time-
released capsule. A slight stir, and they’re up and
running amok in their vast playground; stomping,
racing, sometimes strolling with cocksure arrogance—
owning the joint. ‘Hey, this is our mind, not yours,’
I hear them say.
They have me believing in all sorts of notions
from profound ideologies that need defending to
feelings that need protection. These charlatans give
my life purpose, like fodder for the grazer. Without
them, I would be an empty hull, a husk without
substance. They are the lord and master –
I am the ardent devotee. And what about the reward
for being such a dedicated believer? Ah, there’s nothing
like it; the pain, the agony for following these splinters
of truth into a man-made world filled with glorious
illusions, and wondrous tropes. A cause for being, and
the effect is perpetuity.
My eyes open.
I lean in closer and stare at the reflection in the pool.
The image appears less distorted. A glint of light
emanates from the eyes gazing up at me like
an old friend. A smile spreads across my face.
Sigh of relief escapes from my mouth. The playground
is quiet now – tranquility is utterly sweet.
"Until the juice ferments a while in the cask,
it isn't wine. If you wish your heart to be bright, you must do a little work." Rumi
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