The world is not a stage, but a glass wall, and I, the cursed witness, stand on the cold and barren side. I see the furious pulse, the rise, the silent fall, The joy that is a debt that suffering must abide.
You pass me by in bright, sequential grace, each step a formula, prescribed, and neat; A smile that hides the terror of the space where your own truth and shadow cannot meet.
I watch the cardboard cutouts turn the key, navigate the loop, and call it destiny; their lives are a muted, predictable agony, a whispered plea for a false commodity.
And this, I tell you, is the deepest wound: Not the sight of my own darkness, tormented and raw, But the slow, perpetual horror of the sound Of souls deliberately obeying their own made-up law.
The Law of ease, the creed of the Unseen, The desperate, daily choice to not wake! To keep the spirit small, the vision lean, For fear of what the honest heart might break.
I see the Unkindness that they do not see, The blind behavior, the sharp, unconscious sting; The self-deceit that grants them liberty to hurt the world and call it belonging.
My pain is not my own; it is the sum of all the lives that chose to be denied. The knowledge of the great Inertia to come, where the true self is murdered and defied.
So I am here to bleed: not for my crime, but for the terrible gift of the Wide Eye. To tear the veil that separates your time from the eternal truth beneath the sky.
Wake up! The world is burning, and you sleep. Your gentle dreams are built on borrowed breath. Choose the fierce, agonizing life you keep, Or choose the numb security of death. But know the difference, and own the fear, for the Conscious Soul pays for the sight that’s clear.
Original article: https://medium.com/@anntomology/the-confession-of-the-wide-eyed-soul-79e84f52c0ca?source=rss-dd9d16b8d22f——2