Is it alright that I am me? Can I be myself? Am I allowed to be who I am? But who am I? What am I? Am I good? Am I evil?
Have I ever changed? Must I change? If I change will I be the same? Do I want to die? Do I want to live?
I don't know what I'm doing, yet I know exactly what it is I must do. It's all before me, blackness, nothingness, outsidness, what does it have for me? I know it well, for it is I? Is it not? Is it not the form of all that which I lack? But think on this more, is it the lack or is it really the fullness?
How many times have we been on this adventure here? I want to speak plainly here, but how to speak plainly about something so ultimate? Am I really alive? Am I dreaming? Does the difference matter at any level?
Must I change? I must change, yet I'll always be the same. I must move, I must keep moving.
What is life? What is this thing that we've been gifted? Should it not be said that inactivity is death? Even the dead are active, for what can truly be inactive? Nothingness, that which the mind is made up of in sum.
When you sit idly, when you sit there in catatonia, staring at the wall, music on repeat, counting the blemishes on the ceiling and seeing them reflecting back at you, when you know you must move but do not, when the energy dams up, when it swells, is this not inactivity? Is this not unnatural? Is the nature of the soul not movement?
We must spin, we must dance, we have all these choices, all these things we avoid, all these things we need to do, what is the reason to avoid them, why do we sit idly? Why do we forsake this vitality gifted to us?
If I change will I be the same? Moment to moment, we're never truly the same, ever changing, always in flux, yet that essence carries with us through all the changes, we are like perfect gems when the sun reflects through us we shine out like all the colors of the rainbow, yet we close the shades, buy blackout curtains, and that gem becomes a rock with no light to fill within us.
We cannot reject the light, for the light is what imbibes us with that very vitality which indeed is our birthright, which is the root and seed of all freedom. There is only one decree sent from both Hell and Heaven's abodes, be free, we must be free, for freedom is the birthright of all living beings.
What does it mean to be free? To choose, between black, white, rainbow, yet here we sit, idly, we zone out, we cry, we rampage, we wail in wanton craving, we stare, we avoid. When does it end?
We can never die, truly, try and try as you might, but wake again you will every time, and I know this to be true, so what then can we do?
Every life I wake up and the tiger mauls me, it rips my skin from off my bones, it scars my face, and mutilates my limbs, what is there to do? You must fight, you must play dirty, you must win, you must become the master of all that there is, will you be a chew toy or the tamer of vicious beasts?
It's all there, locked inside, maybe you forgot, but the truth is that it is never going away, you can ignore it for however long you want, but that thing you're holding onto right now, its a lie, and you know its a lie, its all lie, you must follow whats inside, you must follow the light. You must draw up the curtains.
The light will burn your eyes, the rays will scorch your pale skin, you will be born not anew, but what you always were, ipso originalis, do you understand?
Your face is that very same face of the Maker, the face of the Mother1, and the face of the Maw. Together they are you, so why are you here? What makes you so different out of all the other hex codes2? Perhaps nothing at all you think, yet within each of us contains the multitudes, inside each of us the same divine spark that put outsidness to heel and gave space for somethingness. Do you not feel that power brewing inside you? Do you not feel the awe which you squander which is so innate to your very being?
There's no choice to make, Daughter of Man, simply play ball.