Accidental alchemy

There is a tiredness. A painful lethargy. But I am powerless against it. It has struck me at the very core of my ability. The nuisance it wrecks in my body disables my from concentrating and thus healing myself. I feel bits of me drift away and anger fills me at the slightest opportunity. Normally I would shirk off anger as repressed emotions of powerlessness, but this time, I am too tired and I am forced to ride the wave. I follow my anger, seeing where it leads me.

No adventure can be encountered in settings of joy and peace. It is only in places of fear, unknowingness, and chaos can the journey to adventure be found. And I am brought here by my unbeknownst anger. I see a girl. Why wouldn't I? My mind is constanly driven by the desire for companionship and sex. So it is no wonder the first thing I encounter be a girl. I say girl because a woman for me is someone older than 30. And she is not. She's young. Around 24 or so. I look into her because she has not noticed me. She's looking the other way. I see inside her. A whirlpool of water. Cold, sweet, fresh, turmoil. I am so thirsty. My illness has caused a fever that has parched my throat into a burning cracking waste. I dive into the whirlpool of water and she shudders. I am being sucked into it. Thrown around. But the water is so cold and so refreshing on my burning skin. The water so sweet. I drink and drink. Then I lose consciousness for a while as everything seems black. I know I am still awake but I have no contact with the outside world. No sight, no sound.

I wake up.

I am on the shore of some land. The waves try as hard as they may to touch my feet but I am too high up the beach. My body aches and my eyes are tired. I want to sleep, I feel her hand squeeze my shoulder. I know it is her because she is all that exists. I can feel extreme warmth. Not like the heat of my fever. But instead like the warmth of a bed on a cold night. But no, the anger picks up within me again. I get up quickly and brush her off. "Go away!" I shout at her, teeth clenched, snarling, "I do not deserve you, I do not want you. I hate you!" She is emotionless. I understand that she needs not to show or feel anything. I am the one that is a bouncing raving lunatic. She is one. I have so many parts to fight with. That is why I am sick.

My harmony has been destroyed. My body has tried to speak to me countless times before, but I did not listen. I was too proud. Now I drop down and cry. Yet again, her hands touch my shoulder and yet again, I brush her off. I am ashamed. I think to myself, "She doesn't know who I am. I hate myself. I am not worthy of anything. I am useless. I am a wreck. There are so many people better out there, go disturb them, let me die". I suffer because I have some expectation of myself. Like I am reading a book and I compare myself to the hero. I think I am or at least should be the hero. But I am not. I am me. I don't allow myself to sing my own song. To express myself, as..myself. She hears my thoughts but does not heed them. She heeds nothing in fact and turns her face up to contemplate the sky.

I walk away. A sore loser. A person that hates. Hates too much. A negative person. Too much friction in me. All my energy goes to waste because I am not in harmony. Never in harmony. She follows me. I fall to the sand and vomit. A horrid yellow bile. My retching almost breaks my ribs. She looks at me with exasperation in her face. Takes out a packet of small dry crackers from her pocket and offers it to me. Despite how much I hate her...or hate myself?...I am hungry so I take the crackers and eat them. Dry and tasteless as they are, a beggar cannot be a chooser. I wolf them down and look to her for more. She takes out another packet and I finish that too. Strength restored slightly, I feel a sudden violent sexual attraction to her. I get off the sand and move to her. I hold her close to me and begin to kiss her. My hand cradling her neck as I hold her tight. Visions through my eyes. Lava. Molten rock flowing. Slow, fluid, powerful, fuck-care. It comes out of her and flows into me. I feel a different fire in my. Not like the old, dry, boring rash forest fire of before. This is power. Like the noise a jet engine makes. It flows throughout me, awakening long dead senses and with it, ressurecting long dead fears worries and pains. I fall to the ground. Blacked out again. DAMN! I am conscious but in a body that doesn't know it.

The rage still burns. I don't know why. If I could, I would cry. But I do not have eyes to cry nor a mouth to scream. No body to hit with, nobody to hit. The fear i feel, is that I will not get better. That I will not ever get rest from this illness. It's horrid being conscious of it. Feeling this imbalance. Its like knowing something is wrong but not having a chance to fix it. Only time can. I began to fear illness. My old enemy of fear has returned but luckily this time I recognise him. With the power and will that only Divine Unity can offer, I strike it. Hard and sure.

I wake up.

I am in a forest. A beautiful green forest. Trees as tall and as high as the eye can see. The place in enveloped in a cold gentle mist that is good to breathe in. Its so different. The trees are alive. The rocks are alive. The mountains, streams and shrubs are alive. I can hear them talk. They have allowed me to only because of her. A mans mind is fire and force. A woman is water and the cradle of creation. Stereotypical as it seems, few have been able to escape its reign. There is a small hut. A cottage more likely. Stone walls, tatched roof. I see her outside. Not exactly near the house. She's talking to a tree..? Yeah, she is. I don't know what sort of a tree it is. I'm a city boy, raised with metal and slug bolts, not trees and waterfalls. My rational scientific mind says that, no, she can't talk to trees. Trees can't talk. But without a doubt, I get a feeling that the tree understand her. I get the feeling too that she is not 'talking' in the sense that we know it. She's communicating. Exchanging information, conveying emotions, sharing, which is all talking is about.

As she sees me, she gets up and goes into the house. Right now, even as I see this, I know that I am about to enter peace and contentment yet...it seems so trivial. Like I don't want it. I don't want an easy way. I don't deserve it. I know somewhere deep down, that I am supposed to work hard for something. Work VERY hard. Otherwise I will never find my contentment. I am a creator. I create with my hands and my mind and my eyes and my voice and my words. My father and mother work hard. VERY hard. MY grandparents worked their arses off to survive and prosper. So did and do my uncles. Its this generation. The 3rd generation, that appears to mainly breeding lapdogs. Like me. Living off the hardwork of others. AND SO fucking scared to actually suffer and work. I don't think I can take it. I want to cry. Why?!?! I want to suffer. I need to. I am just like piece of ore, useless. I need the tempering fires of hell to make me into a firm piece of steel with which to work into a sword. I have no spirit. Or at least my spirit is weak. Thats why I sabotage myself.

I'm not worthy yet. I do not judge myself worthy. Its my so-called karma.