I’ve moved to john-aidan.blogspot.com. The latest post prior to this will be posted there as a continuation from here. The current blog will no longer be in use. However, it will still be kept for reference and reading.
In the silent hours of morning I observe the night, the sleep, and Darkness. The night isn’t always silent and motionless. In the seeming peacefulness, the screams of dreams are painted on a child’s pale face. One’s relaxed breath is as lengthened and labored as a man waiting to wake in the realms of eternity. Hearts race against each other, fearing that any unseen ambition will be snatched by another stonger faith. The ground on which one sleeps shakes like a violent earthquake, provoking fear within the soul, challenging the integrity of one’s foundational beliefs…
The known life is what most are used to; death has always been taken for granted as another way of existing. Dreams, on the other hand, warrants the coexistence of life and death: One dies only to witness how he or she dies in absolute consciousness - in all sense of the word. One trembles in paralyzed rest, waking only in realization that the world is for the very first time perceived with another set of eyes that surfaced from the mind’s oblivion. The soul is observed from the spirit. The body lays still on what seems to be a death bed. In the least of expectation, judgment is witheld. One wonders whether death has indeed come, or whether death has indeed come.
The unconscious surfaces only to observe in horror the masacre of conscience, leaving the pale, cold, and still life the way it has always remained in the so-called reality. It leaves being… And at the sight of dawn, the dreamer awakes with the knowledge unconciousness left behind: that it never existed. The known life progresses as always, only to return to the routines of awaiting death since birth.
