It is as though I can smell something; just a tiny whiff of an unnamed fragrance wafting on the air; but I can not see its source nor name its essence.
It is as though I can feel the gentlest flutter of wing like kisses upon my flesh, but groping out I find only phantoms.
It is as though I can hear, ever so slightly, a voice speaking softly under the din of the world, but no amount of strain will give the words strength enough to be discerned.
At moments I feel on the verge of a memory that would open the world up to me with the keys of knowledge that I alone can hope to wield; something so intense, something so immense that it will never again be forgotten if only I can bring sense into this insensibility.
And then there is the other…
… the fragrance more like the stench of rotting flowers that adorn the caskets of decaying corpses.
The fluttering kisses more like a hungered scraping.
The whispered words seem more like silent screams and the emerging memory that of a forgotten nightmare long lost in favour of maintaining sanity.
I am not alone; this much I can ascertain.
Be it demons and angels that war for my eternal soul?
Be it passed lives that struggle to be made flesh again in the present?
Be it the sanity I claim to still cling to has long since departed and these are the delusions of a madwoman?
I know this not, and will make no claims to wisdom.
For me life has always been a two sided coin; a ying to every single yang.
One day I’m crying, weeping on my knees, begging for forgiveness of my sins and savoir for my soul. The next day I’m shaking a triumphant fist up at the sky, laughing manically as I challenge the powers that be.
Bitter depression mirrors insane elation.
Utter wisdom faces off against complete ignorance.
Patience and impatience.
Love and hate.
War and peace.
Dreams and nightmares.
Passion and disinterest.
Kindness and cruelty.
Submissiveness and dominance.
Evil and innocence.
Each person that crosses my path sees something different.
To one man, I am a saintly creature, giving and kind; loving and loyal. To the next I am an evil bitch full of contempt and rage.
One being will see me as shy and demure; the next as bold and flamboyant.
To some I have been an angel; to others I have been the demon that haunts their sleep.
To some I am the lover, the poet, the dreamer. To others I am not but sensibility and a standard thought with both of my feet planted firmly on the ground.
Some see me as a bleeding heart always fighting for some lost cause while others see me as a selfish brat; too tied up in myself to note the suffering in the world around me.
Each person that I have known in this lifetime has seen a different creature in me, and not one of them has ever been wrong, but nor have many ever been entirely right for I am, in my entirety, all of these things.
I’ve often been heard to say, “I’m not alone, I’m just lonely” for surrounded by others I have always been, but so lost in their separate delusions of me was I too.
It seems to me I once sought out just one creature in this whole world that would see me for what I am; all of what I am; and not turn away from it but rather, embrace it.
It seems to me also that I once took great pleasure in never fully being seen.
Two sides to every coin; a ying to every single yang.
These feelings I get, this presence that surrounds me, it is more of the same.
It is the kiss of heaven and the slap of hell. It is pleasurable and terrifying all in one. The terror itself is pleasing. The pleasure itself is terrifying. When the moment passes and the presence is gone, I am left elated and relieved. I am left devastated and hungry for more.
Is it that I am some unique spirit that I can be so diverse without internal conflict?
Is it that I am so conflicted that I see myself as diverse?
Am I alone in my contemplation over all that I am and all that I will ever be?
Am I every man and woman on this earth?
… am I entirely full of shit?
At any rate…
… good or bad, right or wrong, rubbish or thought inspiring… thanks for stopping by my own private universe.