Engineering the Soul

And here it goes again. This merry-go-round of existential suffering, that limbo in which there is no movement or action, just the incessant walowing through which I am ensnared in the most devious traps contrived by nature herself. Surely, the most effective tool for stopping someone is to infect them with som einvisible sense of inaction, of pity, of inwardly-directed judgment and hatred; so as to cripple the individual who will abstain from any activity at the behest of this curse, who tells him that it will only grow if any action is taken.

For this is the opposite of the truth. The preciswe means of defeating this must be to not grant it the energy it so craves - it has placed within the host a certain craving not of his own will; it serves only one thing, that thing being the monster inside him. At the expense of the host, this demon sows seeds of discontent and disorder into the being of the innocent host, who is doomed to act out of compulsion and to sow his own seeds of self-destruction in the most pererted ways imaginable.

Such things aren't of fairy tales; they exist in this corporeal world. They are physical things that surround us, they can be transmitted from person to person as would a common cold through an innocent sneeze. The vetor this time is not the air, it is not the classical physical reactions we have been trained in this day and age to associate only with disease. It is invisible, and it strikes when you are most vulnerable. It acts of its own accord and with its own agenda, but it will maintain the host in a stasis not unknowingly complicit, but still the capacity for dispelling such an inconvenience is given to the host as an impossibility. Perhaps this is not the truth - perhaps the need for an illusion to dupe the master of his destiny into believing something that is not necessarily true denotes an inherent weakness in the build of the evil-doer; its own reliance on another form to survive is evidence enough of its need to trick the host into thinking it needs to maintain this sense of unease at all times.

This must be combated with the utmost intelligence and caution, for that which is not you must not be killed, or destroyed or altered in undesirable ways, but it must be conserved; all the while extinguishing the truthfully undesirable qualities that this one calls "disease". For that is the nature of the word, "dis" and "ease", that is a state of being that is not pleasant, and one that the being itself tries to improve using the faculties he is conscious and aware of. One can only use the faculties if one is proficient in their usages; if one uses his own (often substantial) powers irresponsibly, then there can be profound side-effects that would of course have to be unpredictable, and the likelihood of causing another two problems to extinguish one is disconcertingly high.

This does not mean that one should not make the effort to try to improve the situation. It is not hopeless, after all, if there is a possibility of making the surrounding environment into something of the utmost beauty and pleasantness; and one should endeavour while he has the faculties to detect subtleties and has the power to attune them to his desired measures, that he realises this and that in the experimentation process required, there are bound to be errors of judgment along the way. No blame can be apportioned to the scientist of the soul for experimenting with himself if things go wrong, or have undesirable consequences - for one must start wherever one finds oneself standing, and only through the careful manipulation of his own inner workings, his motivations, his wordly views, his realisations, can he hope to learn something of their power and process. For it is like feeling one's way through a labyrinth with nothing but one's own sense of touch - dead ends will be found mostly, some often revisted painfully frequently. But there can be no doubt that the only guarantee for the incompletion of a man's target entity is the cessation of the search. So, the being must continue its search once it has found a desirable and maintainable trait, and continue along its search of mastery of this most mysterious and complex of machines, that we call the human.

And this act of documentation? It is required due to the selective memory system of the compromised human. Its machinations can often be inefficient if they are running too much at once. For man has all the tools inherent in him to expedite his own liberation - it is the realisation of this that is too-oft forgotten. No blame can, or should be apportioned to anyone or anything for the state man finds himself in - it is out of pure ignorance (that too-often maligned concept) that a man drowns himself in his own despair that is entirely of his own making.

The heros of our time should not be our corrupt politicians, our wealthy sportsmen, our egotistical entertainers, or those that seek the limelight and jump head-first into the messy fight between those who are all after the same thing. Our heros should be those who view these things in a cautious, yet optimistic suspicion. They observe and critique in their own ways, they understand their true limitations and are not ashamed of them; they understand the plight of every being on this planet and yearn to spring each out of his own shell. They are inclusive, not exclusive; they are compassionate and thoughtful, not compulsive and greedy. They are those who don't seek fame, power, fortune, and they don't behold others as obstacles to overcome; as rungs on the ladder to victory. Our heros shun these things and understand the futility of such frivoulous accomplishments in favour of the untouchable - the love in our hearts, the smells of nature, the colours of everyone's own rainbow. These are the true accomplishments of man, the gardeners of the soul. For certainly, if one measured life in accomplishments, surely the greatest success would be the man who has conquered the world not through violence, or force, or through his will set against the wills of others. It will be the man who has brought the world together, free of these things, each aware of his own nature, each loving and compassionate as much to himself as he is to others. He is a healing force amongst many others; he strives to attain the ideal situation and to fulfill the purpose of the human on this planet. He is the greatest gift to all of creation - he makes us realise that we are indeed all unique expressions of the timeless time, of the formless form. Our hero needs no fulfillment or confirmation from others, he is rewarded by life itself for his pure heart and his virtuous soul.

Our hero is ourself. We must realise this and make it so we are heros that we can look up to ourselves.

Really?

Holy shit! I am here. I am. That's so weird, or maybe it's just so normal. Little dinosaurs are pecking at my window. It's incredible. I wish they would do that all the time. I enjoy the company. They are great. They are great ornaments.

I am having a relatively pleasant time. But I want to expand it. I have to find out how to do that. I  want to be away for a while.

Can I be excused for a moment?