Finality

 It is written. All that is. All that ever will be. And all that will become of you and me, and them, and those you hate and the ones they love. There's not much choice. Pre-destined, if you will. To the extent that we choose. I cannot bless the swine with sacred truths from the birds and the bees above me. I cannot take a sacred temple to those who have lost light in their eyes. I cannot bring the chill to Hell. To evolve or to descend. To lose it all to inherit everything or to die under the burden of things.

Falsities, projections, misnomers. The illusions we break through. Fragile, we must be. Otherwise, why take such time to purify or decay? Why a lifetime oscillating between the two? There must be substance underneath it all. A necessary something worth defying mathematical projections for. Much of life is lived defying logic, isn't it? A grieving cry. A lover's yearn. A miraculous birth. A revelation in finality. Human, flawed, yet necessary. They always blamed Eve's curiosity for the state of things. I think her curiosity saved them. Defiance is our nature. A degree too close and we're frozen into oblivion or burned beyond nightmarish torment. Feminine nature defying the very nature they've birthed into existence. Men philosophizing their existence as though an answer awaits them. Defiance in expectation. Change in certainty. Absolution in the face of injustice. What are we, really? Truly. There's something to the nature of humanity. Beyond its destructive descent on its continuum, there's more. Something that yields beyond inquisition and seeks presence. In the silence, therein lies our answer. 

What if one goes mad? Loses all stability in reality? What if we go and can't come back? As if this latent truth you speak of is beyond man's reach, then what? Where do we go? Will you come find me? The fear is all-consuming. May I lie back in the comfort I once knew again?

The line of questioning has already changed you. Otherwise, your mind would've ceased to wander. You would have swallowed a more palpable truth and stopped roaming, yet here you are. I invite you to wander alongside this: "If I told you, you've already been decided upon. That you've already been written. That all you have become and what you've been, and what you will be, is as true as the sea is wide. The choices that lie ahead of you await you, as they also know which you would decide upon. That you are simply on a need-to-know basis of your own existence. If you truly knew, you would cease to exist, crushing the story in its entirety. Will you walk alongside me?

My mind denies you, yet my feet betray me.

As they should. You wouldn't have liked the fate of staying behind. 

Staying where?

Where you've come from. No longer existing, caught between layers of existence. Prisoner to your own curiosities, sanctioned to your cowardice. Never moving forward. A standstill of your own doing. A dismissal of your truth. Pitiful, to say the least. 

Where are we going?

You know better than I?

How?

For you are leading the way.

A glance downward revealed a body consumed by certainty. A patter of footsteps became a cadence of my own. "Where did they go?"

I motioned to turn back and couldn't complete the revolution. Whatever fell behind me truly doesn't exist the way it did a moment ago. A falling timeline that isn't welcoming to returning visitors.

I was seeking, unaware that there is no return. I fear that the destination is beyond what I can truly reach. A Sisyphean burden placed by my own hand.