Dear moonbow,
If you're reading this, then Absolem is doing his job well, writing to you was never easy; since my bleeding heart is still chained to this peril of stupified nothingness in this forgotten valley.
so, how do I start? my condition was a bit worrying. still strangling with my own paradoxical theories that never seems to end. like a Penrose stairs, or that MC Escher's waterfall. you thought you had climbed high, you had stepped upward ahead, you had prevailed the impossible shapes and you had crossed it all, and when you blink that aurore eyes one moment that you realize you're just hitting the same spot, again. It's like living in a limited sphere, no matter how further you run, or hide, eventually you know you're dignifying limits. That's how people came up with this karma stuff and being fed to believe. But how do they define infinity ?
Today, I was questioned by lots. By lots of words and heads. by possibilities and impossibilities. I never thought self-interest could be this covet and unalloyed in a way. Same questions and same answers, redundantly. same empathetic nods and same old cynical or sceptical stare, I couldn't tell. Everything was just plain. and of no colours, lifeless. This is one reason I need to write to you. Yes, you might say that beclouded fate should not be revealed until it is time, but which Hand that writes it all? Even uncertainties can be as tangible as your midnight cup of coffee, if He wills.
I have a story to tell.
to be continued..
x
