Raz
Bluelighter
...I posted the first two parts of this ages and ages ago, but could never figure out how to finish it...it just came to me today, so I'm glad it's not bugging me anymore and has left some space in my head for obsessing about other important things...lol..
HURRICANE: PART ONE
I was born in the eye of a hurricane.
Winds shattered my world while I looked on, and the houses of my people
were raped before my eyes. This was my introduction to life.
Tears fell often then. Gnashing of teeth. Wailing. The whole bereaved
child fantasy that we all spend our lives wanting to go back to, because in
all that rage and fear and frustration we long for something more. We expect that there's something more.
We haven't given up yet.
We haven't accepted that this quiet calm in the centre of it all...this is all
we have. This is all we own.
The strange thing is, we own death. The hurricane spirals on around us,
full of life and energy and movement, and it is as beyond us as it is upon us. We cannot claim this vitality that tears at our security, we can't make any mark on the air that screams as it soars past us at speeds we don't know.
In the end all we can claim is the eye....this null circle which baffles life
and energy and movement. This sphere of death which kills any kind of
activity. And this is our sanctuary.
This is our sanctuary.
It's enough to make me laugh...
HURRICANE: PART TWO
I was raised in the hurricane.
Violence.
Chaos.
These things were my order.
I grew to learn discord as the natural way of all things.
I learned to grow into a broken-hearted mess.
I took these lessons on.
The winds represented life and they taught me the power of hate.
I learned love in the eye of all this.
I learned hate from life.
I learned love from death.
From the power of appreciating and respecting those gone before me.
I didn't know irony back then, I only knew the sound of the screaming
winds as the hurricane reminded me over and over how small and puny we are compared to a force we can't even see, and how utterly useless it is to assert your true nature against nature itself.
It's enough to make me cry...
HURRICANE: PART THREE
I died in the wake of the hurricane.
The winds gave their eulogy with more force of emotion than anything
which had touched me while I was alive. The air screamed on in protest and rage. The sky turned black with grief. The hurricane tore on and found new lands to visit without me.
I slipped from its grasp for the first time.
For the first time I realised the cause for its violence.
For the first time I realised the source of its power.
For the first time I realised why life destroys all that it touches.
Death is a bubble which can't be penetrated, which holds against any force,
which suffers no pain.
Life is movement and energy and screaming and raucousness and crying
and laughter. Life is extremes of love and hate and all that lies in
between. Life will exist regardless of how much we might protest. And no matter how hard we try to hold it sacred and unmoving, life...
...Life goes on.
HURRICANE: PART ONE
I was born in the eye of a hurricane.
Winds shattered my world while I looked on, and the houses of my people
were raped before my eyes. This was my introduction to life.
Tears fell often then. Gnashing of teeth. Wailing. The whole bereaved
child fantasy that we all spend our lives wanting to go back to, because in
all that rage and fear and frustration we long for something more. We expect that there's something more.
We haven't given up yet.
We haven't accepted that this quiet calm in the centre of it all...this is all
we have. This is all we own.
The strange thing is, we own death. The hurricane spirals on around us,
full of life and energy and movement, and it is as beyond us as it is upon us. We cannot claim this vitality that tears at our security, we can't make any mark on the air that screams as it soars past us at speeds we don't know.
In the end all we can claim is the eye....this null circle which baffles life
and energy and movement. This sphere of death which kills any kind of
activity. And this is our sanctuary.
This is our sanctuary.
It's enough to make me laugh...
HURRICANE: PART TWO
I was raised in the hurricane.
Violence.
Chaos.
These things were my order.
I grew to learn discord as the natural way of all things.
I learned to grow into a broken-hearted mess.
I took these lessons on.
The winds represented life and they taught me the power of hate.
I learned love in the eye of all this.
I learned hate from life.
I learned love from death.
From the power of appreciating and respecting those gone before me.
I didn't know irony back then, I only knew the sound of the screaming
winds as the hurricane reminded me over and over how small and puny we are compared to a force we can't even see, and how utterly useless it is to assert your true nature against nature itself.
It's enough to make me cry...
HURRICANE: PART THREE
I died in the wake of the hurricane.
The winds gave their eulogy with more force of emotion than anything
which had touched me while I was alive. The air screamed on in protest and rage. The sky turned black with grief. The hurricane tore on and found new lands to visit without me.
I slipped from its grasp for the first time.
For the first time I realised the cause for its violence.
For the first time I realised the source of its power.
For the first time I realised why life destroys all that it touches.
Death is a bubble which can't be penetrated, which holds against any force,
which suffers no pain.
Life is movement and energy and screaming and raucousness and crying
and laughter. Life is extremes of love and hate and all that lies in
between. Life will exist regardless of how much we might protest. And no matter how hard we try to hold it sacred and unmoving, life...
...Life goes on.
