Emperor Pan I
Respected Member
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I have stood before the gates of hell. I have heard the cries, the pleading, and the screaming. I have felt the heat scorch my flesh, the flames which do not cease their inconvenient torrid. There is no beginning and there is no end. The pain shrouds conscience, life is nothing the soul is broken. A thousand torments a million afflictions. Cries of anger, pain and assertion. Each voice is a strand, one with no connection. The mind tickles with recognition. The voices are known, but incomprehensible. The flames flicker, and the gate is agape, Hell bares itself, and I enter.
All and nothing. That is the direction of the soul. To wander simply to chase a hope, a dream this cannot be fulfilled. Where the mind wanders, the soul explores. Nowhere to find the answer, but always to search an endless void. The ultimate destiny is the final darkness. The answer to a question never asked, and never answered. The soul knows. There is no trick, no cunning bluff to persuade a different direction. It cannot rest, until the body can no longer keep up. Then the soul will have it’s place.
The very paradox of existence is the soul. It is unseen, and unheard, but felt. It is what drives you foreword, when your hope is lost. When the world is swallowed by the beast, and nothing is real. When the body bleeds, and the mind breaks down, the soul takes over. There is no sound, no words, which can persuade or dissuade. The journey seems to have no finish, until it is over. Once over, there is no understanding of the path to find it. Time is irrelevant to it all. It is an obstacle of the mind, which has no barring on the will of the soul. When it is no longer searching, then the journey is over.
The goal of the soul is the journey. The journey may hold the ultimate failure, but that is inconsequential. If life is but a single breath, then that breath is all that matters. In the moment, all life begins and all life ends there is a purpose. That journey is what the soul possesses. In the journey, all explanations are clear, if we only catch the single moment, which defines the soul. When and only when the soul has completed it’s journey, may it rest.
Whilst the soul strays to far from the journey, it is lost. The soul forfeits the journey, when the whole begins to waver. Adrift, the soul knows no propriety. There is no purpose, the journey lost, no battle fought. The trail grows cold, as does the heart. No light to warm the soul, no humor to lighten the mind. It is a self-conscious act, to destroy one’s soul. No force may alter their course but themselves. That is the road to hell.
Click
I live no longer. The churning soul has found its place, not along its natural course, but the journey has ended now, of my own will. To call the soul a master of itself is a lie. The soul is the journey, and is the wanderer. No, it is not, never is. The soul is lost always, never a path. The path is the one I lead, none other, or what is life to live?
To live without conscience is to be free of all falsity. To wonder, to question binds us to a pact, one of thought and understanding. Once aware, we are no longer free. The feelings become our masters, the desires our dictators, the thought our understanding. Then come the rules, the proper order the function. Nailed to a cross the chain of being is in place. To alter that force is to bring chaos. Chaos beset by those who would see to it never to exist. To think instead of reason, to answer without questions, To go against the soul, and find the destination without a journey. Raised with the knowledge, and not the experience.
Nothing earned, never participated in. All is sacred, all is right. All is order, order is right. The being is of thought and thought elevates the being. To question is to make existence sweeter. To think is to destroy all but one. The Selfish lies of love and God, only muddy with illusion of grandeur. White is purer than green. Destruction is in death, no longer hate. To hate is more natural to the thought than the will. The will is but a side of the mind to be what once it was. No more. The tears of love and the tears of hate are indistinguishable among the imposters of life. To think is to destroy.
Once the understanding is set, we become the masters. We rule the kingdoms set around us. We rule the very rulers of these kingdoms. Rules, order, discipline, or code? It matters not which method, as long as it is there. One being of chaos is enough, but more there are. The soul is lost in darkness, when the actions of chaos do not follow the ideal. The hunger never satisfied, the greed never quelled. The questions never answered the fighting never resolved. To be is simply to invest in another. There is no longer life, but there is a code. There is a rule, which sets life, and dictates its course. To go against the course is chaos. To go against, is chaos…
I have stood before the gates of hell. I have heard the cries, the pleading, and the screaming. I have felt the heat scorch my flesh, the flames which do not cease their inconvenient torrid. There is no beginning and there is no end. The pain shrouds conscience, life is nothing the soul is broken. A thousand torments a million afflictions. Cries of anger, pain and assertion. Each voice is a strand, one with no connection. The mind tickles with recognition. The voices are known, but incomprehensible. The flames flicker, and the gate is agape, Hell bares itself, and I enter.
All and nothing. That is the direction of the soul. To wander simply to chase a hope, a dream this cannot be fulfilled. Where the mind wanders, the soul explores. Nowhere to find the answer, but always to search an endless void. The ultimate destiny is the final darkness. The answer to a question never asked, and never answered. The soul knows. There is no trick, no cunning bluff to persuade a different direction. It cannot rest, until the body can no longer keep up. Then the soul will have it’s place.
The very paradox of existence is the soul. It is unseen, and unheard, but felt. It is what drives you foreword, when your hope is lost. When the world is swallowed by the beast, and nothing is real. When the body bleeds, and the mind breaks down, the soul takes over. There is no sound, no words, which can persuade or dissuade. The journey seems to have no finish, until it is over. Once over, there is no understanding of the path to find it. Time is irrelevant to it all. It is an obstacle of the mind, which has no barring on the will of the soul. When it is no longer searching, then the journey is over.
The goal of the soul is the journey. The journey may hold the ultimate failure, but that is inconsequential. If life is but a single breath, then that breath is all that matters. In the moment, all life begins and all life ends there is a purpose. That journey is what the soul possesses. In the journey, all explanations are clear, if we only catch the single moment, which defines the soul. When and only when the soul has completed it’s journey, may it rest.
Whilst the soul strays to far from the journey, it is lost. The soul forfeits the journey, when the whole begins to waver. Adrift, the soul knows no propriety. There is no purpose, the journey lost, no battle fought. The trail grows cold, as does the heart. No light to warm the soul, no humor to lighten the mind. It is a self-conscious act, to destroy one’s soul. No force may alter their course but themselves. That is the road to hell.
Click
I live no longer. The churning soul has found its place, not along its natural course, but the journey has ended now, of my own will. To call the soul a master of itself is a lie. The soul is the journey, and is the wanderer. No, it is not, never is. The soul is lost always, never a path. The path is the one I lead, none other, or what is life to live?
To live without conscience is to be free of all falsity. To wonder, to question binds us to a pact, one of thought and understanding. Once aware, we are no longer free. The feelings become our masters, the desires our dictators, the thought our understanding. Then come the rules, the proper order the function. Nailed to a cross the chain of being is in place. To alter that force is to bring chaos. Chaos beset by those who would see to it never to exist. To think instead of reason, to answer without questions, To go against the soul, and find the destination without a journey. Raised with the knowledge, and not the experience.
Nothing earned, never participated in. All is sacred, all is right. All is order, order is right. The being is of thought and thought elevates the being. To question is to make existence sweeter. To think is to destroy all but one. The Selfish lies of love and God, only muddy with illusion of grandeur. White is purer than green. Destruction is in death, no longer hate. To hate is more natural to the thought than the will. The will is but a side of the mind to be what once it was. No more. The tears of love and the tears of hate are indistinguishable among the imposters of life. To think is to destroy.
Once the understanding is set, we become the masters. We rule the kingdoms set around us. We rule the very rulers of these kingdoms. Rules, order, discipline, or code? It matters not which method, as long as it is there. One being of chaos is enough, but more there are. The soul is lost in darkness, when the actions of chaos do not follow the ideal. The hunger never satisfied, the greed never quelled. The questions never answered the fighting never resolved. To be is simply to invest in another. There is no longer life, but there is a code. There is a rule, which sets life, and dictates its course. To go against the course is chaos. To go against, is chaos…
