Another Meditation

As was the sky brightened, so becomes the mind of the traveler.

Yet did the wisdom of the man thwarted, his body decayed. Has it been the ruthless imprisonment of his soul, locked within the attic that hung a-tall. Tortured, tormented, was the thinker of matters, thinker of thoughts, devoid of any much vitality. Blurred, his vision became; misted, as his once-powerful sight degraded.

Against much of an agony, no mortal could withstand; neither did the lone man. That he has stayed within the mindlessness, the state of unknowing. That the tales and wisdoms had eluded, lack of thoughts did he recall. Nor did he imagine the wretched wanderer within the blizzard and the tears; nor did he remember the miserable strider over the road within the sea of dunes, the road of suffer; unwittingly, did he become a part of those – a part of ignorance, deprivation of vibrancy.

The miserable one did once more witness the fall of his wisdom, the decadence of his consciousness. It was when he set out for the journey of opportunities, in search of redemption, did he once more fell astray. That the sky and lights had hidden afar, so did the magnificence of the land; the man failed to witness any but the darkened mist of chaos and… himself. Indeed, he saw the altered self of his, distorted, tortured, failed. Feared by the appalling figure of his, he became ingested by the darkened one, converted into the being of resemblance. More than deceived by the falsehood of unease, for another once did he become lost.

Has it been a thorough confession of his, long supposed to be undertaken. That the man has for too long been blinded by his intangible aspirations, unseeing the fallacies that emerged to become many. Yet the man failed to recognize until the very last moment that the fallacy became omnipresent around – and within – then man himself; and he fell, hard, severe. Should the words describe.

Has the man risen from the painful torture,
At where the clouds once painted the sky,
Where the oceans formed, the sights witnessed,
At where the tales were told –
Hundreds of tales, thousands of words.

Yet none has the man perceived.

Once was he the man of great art,
The bearer of great wisdom;
Once was he the traveler within minds,
The teller of tales.

Yet he has become less than nothing.

That his vision was blurred,
His consciousness blinded,
Was he unable to construe the tales,
The imageries of his own.

Nor were any words spoken.

Alas! Wretched is the man,
Mindless, thoughtless.
Yet he never realized the cause
That has lain within his own.

And his body was broken apart,
His knowledge shattered.

Has it gone by. As was the sky brightened, so becomes the mind of the traveler. Thus comes the meditation – the therapy, of the disease with which you have long struggled. Vision yourself upon, my friend; what have you seen?

Roads with buildings, buildings standing by. Familiarity, as if the scenes were witnessed once. It was once that I stepped within the deepest consciousness of mine, exploring myself to the depth that was never known, for that once I strolled across these streets. So emerged the evoking of memories, memories of past and future.

I remember that once I saw the roses spreading across the red walls; that once the white bricks emerged within my vision. And the once familiar streets have fallen deep within the subconsciousness, leaving traces of novelty and imagination; that the empty street was visited by no one, dwelled the no one; that the streets were the projections from the forthcoming afar. And the streets have become the residence of mine; and I no longer recognized the streets.

Yet I could still remember those symbols witnessed long before, shaded by the leaves and branches of trees. Lives were they, emerged from the bygone of darkness and winter, where I was in search of lights, under the dream of wonders. Must it be the times of winter, that I came to this place for meditation. Resemblance has been drawn from remembrance… Interesting.

More would I be appreciated to hear of your broader vision, the vision that goes beyond. That you said the streets have surpassed the reality; shall you present your vast seeing.

Much of reminiscence has it been. It has begun with the views of the buildings afar, atop the roof of white, against that walls of red. That the roof of white has once been witnessed inside the city of the white, the residence of the beloved Prophet, the red walls seen by the past of mine – the joy of spring, the joy of remembrance. And for this moment I have recalled the rejoice that passed for long; and for this moment I have witnessed the sights that inspire, sights that enrich my mind.

Truly has it been. You have well understood the dream of lights, of meditation; that you have once strolled over the streets for the purity of silence. It was by the depth of winter that you heard the silence, silence of winds, silence of beings, all etched by the knowledge of yours.

And the streets silenced.
Shattered, as if pieces of glass;
Intangible, as if the void of nothingness.

That the silence was the deafening quietness,
Yet the presence of loneliness,
The symbol of the sole thinker.

Barely are the beings seen,
The pedestrians witnessed.
All but the lone wanderer,
Strolling by the quietest side of sight.

Let the silence be.
Will not the birds sing;
Nor the winds whisper;
But the wanderer walks.

Let the silence be.
Be it the innermost reflection,
The soundless conversation
That the wanderer takes.

My friend, should you observe:
What has the wanderer visioned?
Where the journey has been taken,
The sights seen.
Where the past has been unveiled,
The tales lain.

And the man spoke,
Chanting toward no one.
And the silence broke,
Shattered apart.

And all have vanished,
But the visions of the man.

Indeed. Much of the consciousness of mine is yet to be recovered. Shall I be no any longer suffering from the loss of arts, of skills, of knowledge.

Will the meditation save you from the betrayal of the path; as the time falls, once again will both of us bow to the vast storm of redemption.

Thus spoke the wretched thinker, tortured apart by the cause of his own.