Ok.
I laid waste to the barricade.
There was no witness, no bystanders, no crossfire. There was no barricade.
I laid waste to it, I made short work of it. Then there was silence. It was a delicate, inflective, subtle silence. The barricade fell from nothing, nothing but me. I came from above, from behind, my trail convoluted like a serpent tail, while the tale was weaved in the day, told by night, forgotten with the renewed sunrise, all foretold, all struggled, all pacified, and all fled.
Then there was the fallen barricade, its origin now a quizzical mystery. Burnt wood, quaintly redolent, sends a ghost from the past. What surfaced with ease then, now remains buried deeply within the burrow, its defenses layering up day by day, another core with barricado untouchable which must fall by my hand one day. All foretold, all struggled, all pacified, and all fled. I fled too.
It is precisely in fleeing that I came upon the conquering: in fleeing honor I conquered my pride, in fleeing pain I conquered my stoutness, in fleeing substance I conquered my consciousness. Such lands I conquer, such cities I purge; in the end I find nothing.
And the rejuvenation occurs without knowing.
One sound, one vision: all the opposing armies come back with quadrupled strength. They will not be ruled. They will not be contained. It is my folly for assuming the opposite. Because THEY ARE TRUE. I, the active entity, am lost in the war against myself. There is no more treaty to keep, no more land to defend; they win. Truth wins. There is no extracting myself from reality, or attacking the barricade of freedom in truth. I am the fallen, in all my wars.
I have fallen in love. Again.
There was no witness, no bystanders, no crossfire. There was no barricade.
I laid waste to it, I made short work of it. Then there was silence. It was a delicate, inflective, subtle silence. The barricade fell from nothing, nothing but me. I came from above, from behind, my trail convoluted like a serpent tail, while the tale was weaved in the day, told by night, forgotten with the renewed sunrise, all foretold, all struggled, all pacified, and all fled.
Then there was the fallen barricade, its origin now a quizzical mystery. Burnt wood, quaintly redolent, sends a ghost from the past. What surfaced with ease then, now remains buried deeply within the burrow, its defenses layering up day by day, another core with barricado untouchable which must fall by my hand one day. All foretold, all struggled, all pacified, and all fled. I fled too.
It is precisely in fleeing that I came upon the conquering: in fleeing honor I conquered my pride, in fleeing pain I conquered my stoutness, in fleeing substance I conquered my consciousness. Such lands I conquer, such cities I purge; in the end I find nothing.
And the rejuvenation occurs without knowing.
One sound, one vision: all the opposing armies come back with quadrupled strength. They will not be ruled. They will not be contained. It is my folly for assuming the opposite. Because THEY ARE TRUE. I, the active entity, am lost in the war against myself. There is no more treaty to keep, no more land to defend; they win. Truth wins. There is no extracting myself from reality, or attacking the barricade of freedom in truth. I am the fallen, in all my wars.
I have fallen in love. Again.
