Another stint of little words, but from reading another I find myself freed rather than cursed.
No use writing until the tool is whittled down to nothing.
But while under this veil of silence there’s an uptick in frantic searching – as though once I stumble into the new conflict then words’ll come out and I’ll feel alive again.
Whatever vexes you right now, try assuming that it never happened. Or that it is completely restored and in order.
Assume that you already solved it. No matter how ridiculous. Grant yourself whatever wish and assume the wish was granted.
If it means wiping your entire body clean and entire mind and entire existence until plucked and dropped into a new world.
What then?
What then?
Without these issues – if all was immediately granted – would you even be existing?
Our problems hold us together sometimes. Gives us our own meaning. A tense string makes the most harmonious melody I suppose.
When I think about the world where I assume every flippant desire I have is immediately granted, and it is within arms reach, the strangest thing is… it is as though you’ve an orb in your hand and finally dusting it off.
If everything in your immediate perception was granted, what next would you find in your bottomless desire? Would you seek paradise?
Do you find yourself in paradise already? I am writing from there. Gabriel keeps me company.
And fiery lions roam about against the violet meadow, crescent red dotting each creation calmly.
What worlds await! To be swept right deep into the cavern, into the abyss, with billowy waves of ink glinting. The hollowed below echoes and roars! And the waves part to reveal the monstrosity lurking in you, in your heart. An eyelid that could crush you with a blink. Spikes for lashes, scales as granite. Can you hear the mucus with each blink?
What would await? What would you unfold?
No more tears to wipe away, nothing but wonder about what next comes. Something we could never consider before. Everything is solved. You have a blank slate. Nothing bothers anymore that you can immediately think of; what would spring in such wake?
I would like to shape entire desert dunes, and spell out my name along the Mongolian wasteland.
How the anvil cradles worlds below and each lightning strike but a spark from the smith above.
What would you do with such freedom?
If everything was granted, is this just the beginning?