Sigh. I don’t even have a pretense to write this essay. I want to laugh at this absurd scene, but the cold stole what little motion I had with my face. In ‘Doubt’, I said virtue isn’t meant to be convenient and my writing is the same. Today is going to be a test of my own words.
You know, every essay that I wrote is a conversation that ended. I simply don’t have the cards to raise the stakes, as the house always wins. What it sees, I see. Hope may exist, but a drizzle of water can’t extinguish a prairie fire.
Steel may not melt, but it can’t cut through these flames. How can I be hopeful if all I see is this smoke, despair waiting for me? Maybe if I was still blazing out of the furnace, I would’ve been tempered to survive these flames. Instead I froze myself, to temper myself against filth that I revile with every breath.
I know that I won’t melt, as cold steel is steel. But my forging has already seared this fear into my being. I am tired, tired of walking through these flames that never fail to mark my soul– but I still move. Only the dead can sit still, as every breath demands movement.
I am stuck in my own paradox, between pride and fear. If my fear held as much power as they do weight, then I wouldn’t even be a shadow. I am myself, I am the one who lives. I am the one who feels, who thinks, who acts. And I am to accept that a mere impulse can force me to halt?
I can accept my emotions escaping my influence from time to time, this being an example. But let me be damned before I let them puppet me. I am me, and no other shall take my place in this world. Even if I die, my corpse wouldn’t so much as twitch if they somehow clung to life.
I may not be able to control the external world, but I cannot live without subjugating my inner world– for only then could it be truly mine. I must be the one to create my strings, or at the very least hold them myself– lest I become beholden to another.
I can soften, but not yield. For I am human– preventing me from truly being unyielding. It is only my limits as a human that make me soften, but yielding is an entirely different matter. I am human, a member of the apex species of this world. I know that I can’t truly steel myself against others.
This very humanity damns me and so I must be pragmatic at times. But yielding is an entirely different matter. We have ruled over everything save for the inanimate and divine, and I am to surrender my sovereignty over myself?
I simply can’t, as no version of me would consider the notion. Some versions of myself may covet death while others burn as their flame to the very end. Some versions may capitulate in name but live by their words. In the end, are they all not my vestiges? I cannot see my countless selves, but I recognize them as myself. If I am to change internally, then my thoughts should serve as nothing less than a helm.
I have my covenants to fulfill, the oaths I made to myself, to others, and to my Lord. If I’m paralyzed, then I’ll simply force myself to move. If my anger could burn, then my fear would’ve long been sent into purgatory. There is nothing more irksome than my pride being compromised in this fashion.
Eventually, this flame shall mold me anew– burning this hidden impurity with it. While my steps may fall short, I’ll still walk to spite this cowardice. If my future remains covered by this smog, then there’s no point in trying to look. If rationality fails, then belief shall take it’s place.
I don’t need to see to know where I’m going, as smoke and fire come in a pair. They say blades don’t have eyes, but does this remain true with a spear– one of cold steel?
If I cannot adjust, let my sanity depart– as my endeavor is one without. I’ll pierce through these flames again and again, until this spear thaws or these flames extinguish. I don’t need to know, for a spear has no eyes– my beliefs are enough for me. To believe is to see.
If I can’t see with my eyes, it’s better to don a blindfold instead. With or without knowledge, I must move– sanity becoming a whetstone. To move is my duty, the duty of the living. To stand still is death, the solace of the deceased.
I can’t deny that I want to stand still, to rest and relieve myself of these burdens– both self-imposed and otherwise. To see everything means that my eyes can’t close– they’ve already dried long ago.
I want to be able to let myself go, to let the forge grow cold– knowing that others will rekindle it. To know that if I fall, I don’t have to be the one putting myself back together. Now this hope is a beautiful one, but I see a kiss of death. No engine can run on death, nor can hope sustain my engine.
Above all, I cannot die. I have already given my word, bonds that must be repaid– even death can’t absolve my commitment. Look back at every word I wrote, for they all serve as bonds to me– each one of them infused with my consciousness. 94,147 words and counting serve as my first commitment to myself, a living constitution of sorts.
Quite frankly, my essays are closer to me than my jugular. You’d be surprised on how interconnected they are with my life.
My second commitment to myself is one that I can’t articulate, yet I recognize it all the same. Where else would these words count from?
In regards to people, I owe both everything and nothing to them. I am connected to so many threads, yet I’m only bound to a fraction. I cannot rest without resolving these threads, as even a fraction is enough to wrap me up.
In regards to my Lord, I have made a covenant with him– and I intend on fulfilling that oath until the very end.
My existence itself is enough of a reason for me to move. It doesn’t matter how I move, by line of sight or point of spear. It’s a self-fulfilling cycle, one with a lethal inertia.
Author’s note: It’s exceedingly unfortunate how this essay is the first short one that I’m publishing given the topic. I originally planned on being more down-to-earth, but it seems that my writing voice took over.
This is perhaps the worst time to publish this, but we ball. The only time I’ve swore was with that motto of mine in ‘Censorship’. Anyways, this isn’t meant to be read standalone since it’s developed from my essays. Honestly, none of my essays are meant to be standalone in the first place– they’re all an integrative whole.
There’s a difference between pride and arrogance so try not to confuse yourself with that. I can’t claim to be perfectly sane, since that’s another form of insanity. What I can claim is that I’m as sane as you are.
I don’t know how the concept of death sneaks back into this. But if it works, it works. I can see how it could be misinterpreted but you’d have to be a special type of person to think literally.
Living constitution is a legal and interpretive philosophy, one that I’ve applied towards my own words. To hammer this point in, ‘Growth’ is the foundation of the threads that I’m referring to when I’m talking about people. ‘Life’ contains my abandonment of the Golden Rule and my authored replacement.
Since this is supposed to be a short essay, I’ll save the rest for ‘Five’– the next short piece. I have a lot to write about this piece and about poll result. I’ll eventually connect these essays all together in ‘Net’.
Unrelated to my writing, I somehow got a bloody nose. Not one For now, I have some more writing to do. So as always, congratulations on reaching the end of this piece.