My Entangled Mind

I cannot forfeit the past, for long as it has been, it has assimilated itself as part of me. The moment present became past it became another building block of my soul, and even with hindsight, when it felt as if those building blocks should topple, not even Aeolus could bring them down with his mighty winds. They are fortified by my own soul, which is composed of them, an armor of aspect. I’m left at a crossroads here. I do not deafen myself to spare my ears of the consequences of this, but as humans, are we not consequences with feelings? 

Two things can be simultaneously true here, but I ponder, if these building blocks have truly gone rotten, why do I still look upon them with pride and assurance? To regret the past would be to regret existing. I am sorry for the way things have transpired, and at a time I was teetering toward regret, but I cannot deny that which is essential to me: that it happened at all, that that in itself is worthy of celebration. I don’t mean to suggest twisting the memory, distorting it so that only the wholly good parts are recognized (after all, if that was the case, my mind wouldn’t be so entangled with contemplation), as it wasn’t totally pure especially toward the end, but the integral truth is that at that time, I was totally happy and content and I will always carry with it that association. In other words, to deny that would be akin to denying myself, and I have denied myself too much as is. I ought to be kinder to myself. 

We are creatures subservient to our nature. That is our greatest strength as well as our greatest flaw. I cannot be upset about that. That is the simple source of truth that navigates the soul. I was in pain and I am okay now. To let go of the past is not truly to let it go, to pretend it never happened, but to relinquish one’s pain toward it (note this doesn’t necessarily mean forgiveness, but as a creature subservient to my nature, to proffer forgiveness is something I am fated to do). Only once this is done can we burst free of our cocoon and become something utterly gorgeous. Release my bonds, dry my wings, and allow me to take flight before the stars. 

In the end all things become dust, even the stars, but that dust becomes something beautiful. It becomes you. 

shortfin