Copperdell Forest - In Thought

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Dec 27, 2009, 9:04pm

Copperdell Forest :: Copperdell Forest :: Stone Dens :: In Thought

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Topic: In Thought (Read 68 times)

Xavier
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Joined: Feb 2006
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In Thought
« Thread Started on Feb 9, 2006, 11:41am »

Nightfall had well and truly descended over Copperdell’s vast expanses. The heavens were shaded a beautiful hue of velvet blue, and textured so it seemed to rippled. And the velvet was thrice encrusted with jewels, and thrice over and over until the number became uncountable- but the price jewel held at the centre, a grand Opal, an Omnipresent, Omniscient eye. The air was silver haze and the surges of illumination held within them motes of silver dust that swirled and pranced upon the currents in the metaphorical sea of the sky. And the trees responded in kind, swaying and whispering with the words of the lost, basking in their silvery glory and as the trunks were rooted firmly to the ground, their ecstasy did not carry on up into the celestial dome. The grass was shaded and the foliage was shadowy, the rock shone upon in such a fashion that it became old; the ridges exclaimed by shadows and forced to stand higher, a wonderful display of pathetic fallacy. The dens were among the many counterparts of Copperdell Forest, and the shafts of light reached them two, the spindly entrance becoming darker as it descended. But the cavern inside was quite bright, and the funnels in the alabaster above were old and cracked, and light seeped through to highlight the hard but comfortable interior.

Xavier nosed the entrance curiously. He was very tired. His huge, muscular shoulders were low and his sleek neck lowered broodingly in weariness. His long silver pelt matched the Opal-like moon and it was drifting on the breeze, loose tendrils of his quite beautiful mane tumbling elegantly up and down and around. He looked up, his chiselled features striking in the light, and survey the area once more with his piercing gaze. Then he slipped inside, be cautious of his toned bulk, save he get stuck. Once inside he chose the centre plateau and laid on the smooth, hard, slight cold stone. It was strangely comfortable, and very level, so her rested his head on his generous paws, coked an ear to the door, and began to think.

Life is difficult. It is metaphorical, physical, emotional, but it is there, and it is real. It goes by many names, a different one for each different person, and only each person can know life, their life, and no life is without difficulty. When life is difficult, only you can know why, and there are no words to express why. Communication strikes us as primitive. We can never get the message across. I am here to defy that. I am here to tell you my story.
I have learnt to wear a mask that shows a smile, and inevitably, the mask is wearing thin. When the final blow came and they tried to take away the only thing I had left, my mask shattered, and that was when I truly knew what everything meant, and why, and how. It had been so much a struggle I had never stopped fighting to think, to look into the polluted sky and simply wonder if I was fighting for the right reasons or the profoundly wrong. But it was all revealed. And I stopped wondering. When they took things from me they stripped me bare and now I can no longer be strong.
My life is drained. I have only one thing left, and it is enough, because it is what we all need.
It isn’t God. I stopped believing in his celestial presence years ago and it was a decision that cost me much, for if there was ever a God, he has punished me for having no reliance. My faith lied in what I could see, touch, smell, hear and taste.
When I started to grow up I noticed three things. The first was that my thoughts were different and so was I. My perspective was, or seemed, unique and so hard to pin down. The second was, do other people think like me? How would I know? There was no way to tell. And the third was that this world, what it had become, was not where I wanted to be. In the two or threes years it took me to grow up I made so many mistakes that I weep and cringe and sob appropriately with the memories- but now I am here and I’ve an understanding that wasn’t there before. Through the toil my mask lies shattered as I said it would be and I am upright and facing life with what I can gather of my broken self. Maturity strikes you in a way that one thousands words cannot hope to flatter or make meaning of, even if the words are of a poet or a doe-eyed aficionado. It is responsibility, knowledge and understanding of what you observe, and knowing precisely what you think about it all. There were times I wanted to be and to act like everyone else, even when I was trying to distinguish myself, but I have not slipped yet, and I am glad. Partly to thank are my friends because without them I surely would not have been belligerent so long, and I would have been a suicide case.
I chose my friends subconsciously, and now I look they were all very different groups of people. They all saw a different me, but now the people I know will hopefully see in my eyes deep weariness and they will know I am who I am. And so my growing up includes many things, people being only a small fraction.
To give so many words to such a subject can strike one as a tedious endeavour but I want to make sure that my mind is open, so that people see that how they see things is not how everybody else sees things.
People are so afraid of being open. Even I am. How can you speak your mind in today’s world without be scorned, jeered and hated? How can you get respected in someone will not admit that you have your views and they have theirs? It is pointless to try, yet I want to try, I want to say the things I can’t because to them it is controversy. And if it is to them, then let my person be controversial.
I realise that my thoughts are scattered on these pages, so collect and order them, as you will. A person has free will, something modern society still fails to understand, so interpret, as you will. Free will, well, it’s not as free as it seems. As soon as our political parties announce they are fighting for democracy it seemed we are, once again, harbouring under and more perfumed and fragrant dictatorship. That is merely one example.
Dictatorship appears on many levels and scales, and each one is important and as scandalous as the next.

« Last Edit: Feb 9, 2006, 11:53am by Xavier »

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//Xavier//
//7 Winters//

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