There is a story to tell, characters all in a play. The realization that we are by no means the hero in this story, strangely enough, we are as well not the villain. All we are summed up as this: ignorant creatures, whose very minds alone can by no means grasp the basic mysteries of existence. A cistern of pain around our shoulders, pressing up and down--that we call baggage. We traverse far and wide, meditate day and night, just to stumble across two paths, where we ought to cast our votes: entirely one for the villain, or completely one for the hero. Why? For it is peace and rest our souls cry for. Lo! at times we hinder the hero, oh how wonderful, for the hero regards us as children, looking past our ignorance and rather sticking his hands out to save; our fingertips simply reaching CLOSER CLOSER CLOSER CLOSER...IMMERSION.
"The enemy is not you," he proclaims. To which we further ought to extrapolate, it is not even another to one. This brings glorious joy, and at once still blissful-pain. Joy for it remains we are not entirely depraved, there remains a heart salvageable, a nature to divine.
The blissful-pain is as this, for there remains the truth to seek--as one can have full knowledge of it, but the path to understand it is seldom taken, and how !!grim!! much less is the application of it. We ought to look within and immerse into what is--a kenotic immersion, an emptying and refilling, constantly occurring, this is the contemplation, that is if we choose the hero. Once more we are merely broken, lonely, wounded, and blinded a people, simply looking for help, a guiding hand; it so happens that the hero offers help, to which the villain mimics it; thereupon the summation of human existence, and the road to decipher. HERO? VILLAIN? What does it all mean? What even does 'what' mean, I say?
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