All An Illusion

0
261

by Corey Lynn, Corey’s Digs:

Is it not all an illusion? Setting aside, for a moment, the trials and tribulations we witness day in and day out. Is it not ALL an illusion? Are these doorways we walk through leading us to what’s next? Or, are they merely doorways to what we perceive is next? What then, becomes of the way, at the end of that alley? The one with no door? Do we then create a door? Manifest the door? Walk through the door?

Is it not all created by mankind, in a cyclical swirl of events, manifested by perception and injected with consciousness? What if these doors were not governed? Are we free to be you and me? Do we walk hand-in-hand down the path to a double door perhaps? A door with greater vision, with more complexities? One that only we choose to see – to be.

We are the creators. We govern our own existence. These interwoven events that spiral around us are but images on a projector. Still shots frozen static, shattered, and spun. It is not magic. It is not glory. It just IS.

The hustle and the bustle is so trite, and drenched in aberrations. They do not exist. The true exploration is in the depth of the soul, and far beyond that which most men know. To be so outside of oneself, that you no longer know the self – that is exploration. These tools we have today. These computers, words, keystrokes… are fraught with deception. That is not the soul speaking. That is ego, arrogance, anger, passion, and sometimes love. But a tool it is. And it will grow weary.

Courage. Courage is courageous by its own right. Courage is perception in its variances with deception. Together, they intertwine a beauty. A duality. A complexity. The dance. But not THE dance. No, THE dance goes beyond measure, beyond pain, beyond sane – it invokes the very nature of our being. It evolves as a thunderous momentum that goes unsurpassed by anything known to mankind. Few, yes few, feel the breadth of its nature. Even fewer have basked in it.

It is time. For too long, man has stood still. Suppressed in madness and stifled by fear. Man must enter its soul, now. The soul. Your soul. My soul. Our souls are trapped. They’ve been snuffed out, bought out, sold out, and defamed. They must go back to their rightful owners. The binds must be broken. All this writing. All this weary. Words on paper. Move beyond. Move deeper.

Read More @ CoreysDigs.com