XXXI

A NEW CHAPTER now unfolds, certain not to be the last, in which I am born into myself. And so, for now, this is the end of the search. The mystery, as it is in its very nature, is yet to be found. I hear the child calling, and next is creation, my creation…the end.

XXX

SOMETHING SCREAMS INSIDE of me; what is that voice that I hear?
IT SPEAKS OF knowledge; it craves the unknowable; it dreams for the undreamable.
ARCANE ARE ITS wishes, untouchable its desire. The voice churns on a mellowed level, bellowing with a whisper that is all too often ignored. But today, today I have heard the voice, and in it I see the philosophy of a child; in its words I taste the purest hope, the hope of the innocent. And so, I know that this voice, this child, is within me and is wishing to be heard, so I must give it my justice, my virtue, my honor as the man he wished not to become.
PURE IS THE voice. Honest, if honestly foolish, but proud with its honor. The purity of the entire universe, all things powerful and all things subtly so, creep through the voice of the child. It is a taste of desire, and with this taste I must taste more, and with this new taste I must swallow, and the desire and I shall become one and the same, a new being and a new mind, molding into one. The next step is in my sights, like that point on the horizon from the center of creation where plains were all I saw, and this point, this blinding bright luminosity, it feels like home. The home of the child within, not to be unseen.

XXIX

IT IS THE terrible times in life that mold our personality above all others, nay, those are the only times that mold our personality. Never has the thought come to be that man learned a lesson from a day of ease and perfection in happenings. Never has the thought come to be that man was a stronger, better person who made better decisions through a day without conflict or troubles. It is the terrible times that build us, the terrible times that bind us, and the terrible times that force us to change. This change is instinctual; since the dawn of man he has evolved in response to those things which occur around him and are not of his control. Mankind wishes to change, and must always be changing; to release uncontrollably powerful emotions is to find an equilibrium between the internal and the external, and therefore attempting to remain constant, promoting homogeny and uniformity, which in their very natures are anti-human.
IT IS THE troubles in time that mold us into who we are and make us human, make us individuals, and individuality is one of the most important things that exist in the personal universe.

XXVIII

I WONDER OF First Man, when he walked the Earth in its primal beginning and knew of nothing he saw. I wonder if he was confused, but I do not think he was. He knew nothing, ignorance in its finest. He didn't know the Earth was the Earth, that it was round or even flat. He knew not what a rock was, or a blade of grass, and certainly could not have known a star or the moon. What a life it must have been, to know so little of all things as to believe the world to be a seemingly endless field of land with spirts of liquid, which he could not have known was water, and to think so little of existence itself?
AND YES, THIS First Man must have thought very little of his own existence. He did not believe that his life had a purpose or a meaning. He did not know were he would go whence he ceased to live, and he knew not where he was before his living had first begun. He could not have cared much, I think. He thought of living only as something which obviously must be done, and this was the only reason he did it. Existence? To the First Man, it must have seemed endless, for eternity was all he could comprehend, for he had never experienced any end whatsoever. Ironic how, in his evolution into what we are now, eternity is the only thing man cannot comprehend, and the end is the most looked forward to thing in existence. Not in a poignant way, no, but in hopes that the end will not really be the end, and it is the First Man in us all that says, "Eternity, my Sons, is the only thing that can be real." But we say we have invented happiness, and we blink.
WHAT A PITY that it is.