The expanses of WolfWings' land
scratched on the wall for all to see


June 8th, 2002
June 8th, 2002
June 8th, 2002
June 8th, 2002
June 8th, 2002

[User Picture]Perhaps... one day, I'll learn to take that first step sooner, before someone offers me what's left of their hand... when I could take their hand in mine wholly.</p> I know this won't make sense to anyone out there, but... I guess, much like dour I've finally realized... finally taken that leap off a cliff, for better or worse, perhaps I'll land on my feet in the end, or perhaps I'll be dashed against the rocks.</p> And love_hate_rape? Until next time, hon. *hugs* And safe journeys from afar.</p>
Leap

KAF/99

***

I reach out my hand;
it is slapped away.

"There is nothing to fear," I say;
I look at the faces awash in fear.
"You will not fall," I plead.
They shrink back, terrified of the
abyss that is the boundary
of their ignorance.

I stand on the other side, amidst
all that they covet but fear they
can never have; their eyes dart
across the landscape of their dreams.

"It is an illusion, it can never be real!"
I hear their cry; they think that the prison
of their ignorance and pessimism is all that
there is, all that can be.

Easier to wallow in misery that is familiar
I think to myself; their world is of pain
and war and hatred, though they could
end it in an instant.

If only they would leap.

"There is another way," I tell them.
Accusations of madness are hurled at me.
The easy path, to believe those who have
moved beyond what they know to be mad.
I smile in spite of it, thinking of
Plato's Cavern, and how perceptive he was.

If only Plato could see them now.

What would he think, I wonder, of
the vast and complex cavern they have
carved for themselves.
Would he marvel at how they no longer
even needed jailers to hold them in their
prison?

How they had become their own jailers?

They pace now, becoming disturbed by me.
I am a thorn to them; they cannot deny
the reality of my existence standing
before them.

"You are deluded! The world you inhabit
is a creation of your mind, nothing more!"
is their line of attack.

How easily they forget that the world
they inhabit was a creation of the minds of
their forbearers, nothing more.

How conveniently they forget reality is
what one perceives it to be.

But I see it in their eyes.
They lust for the world I live in,
it is the stuff of their dreams,
stories and legends.

They try to fill the void within them
by playing at living in my world.
They make a game of it, something "safe".

But even those who can believe in the games,
believe in the stories and legends all too
often trick themselves.

They think there can be nothing more to it
than a game or a story; that if it is not
specified and codified in the phantom rules
of the Great Prison, then it can not exist.

Can never be real.

I turn by back on them for a little while.
I can only ever stand to deal with them for
a short period of time.

Recalling when I once stood where they
do, at the edge of the abyss, I think
of how something whispered to me.
I took a leap of faith, and plunged into
the abyss.

But I did not fall.

In the depths I found fear.
My own fear that there was indeed
nothing more, that I was lost.
I languished in the abyss for a time,
knowing I still could reach back out
and up onto their side, back into
the prison.

But as I scratched in despair at the walls
of the abyss, something was revealed to me.
I began to see that it's true nature was
not an abyss, but a blank slate.

It appeared empty to me at first
only because I was empty.
I had come from the prison, bringing
only it's emptiness and a small splinter
of hope with me.

That splinter I used to scratch at the abyss.

And I realized that the void before me was
only infinite potential waiting to be formed.
Waiting to be filled with my dreams.

And so I went forward into the void.
My splinter of hope grew as I went,
becoming at first a hatchet with which
to chop away at the tendrils of
emptiness, of unlife, that stretched out
after me from the prison.

Then my splinter of hope grew more,
becoming a brush with which I could
fill the void.

With hesitation and wonder and awe,
I painted myself anew.

In time I reached the other side of the void.
I stepped onto the shore with new legs,
and gazed upon the landscape before me
with new eyes.

I looked at the world that way before me,
opened up and given form by my own belief,
and I wept for a time.

Glancing behind me at last, I saw across the great
void at their Great Prison.
I was filled with revulsion, for I saw
it truly for the first time, in all
it's stinking glory.

I saw at last the guard towers of
Fear, Depression, Hatred, and Suffering.
I looked down at myself, seeing what I truly
was at last, and wondered how one such as me
could ever have survived even a day in the
Great Prison.

And so I took up residence in the
new world I had discovered, and tried my
best to stand watch, for I felt a duty to be
keep a beacon alight for those on the other
side of the abyss, who dared to take that
leap of faith.

But there have been few with the courage.
I and the few like me who have escaped the
prison do our best to hold our posts.
We are few, and alone.
There is so much darkness around our world,
always threatening to engulf it.

But we do as we must, for we are the living
who have escaped the darkness and unlife.

And we watch for those who might try to follow us.

I go back to the edge of the abyss every so often,
taking my turn as it were, to call out to the
fearing masses on the other side, to let them
know it is safe on this side.

I am usually met with scorn and contempt.
It saddens me at times, angers me at others,
but I carry on.

And I carry on because I have learned
it is a truly beautiful sight when that
rare soul does indeed leap.

And they discover that all along,
the secret to it all was that they could fly.
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