I Woke Up in Ruins

I woke up in ruins, where bore the glorious history of the former ones, whose brilliance illuminated the sun, wisdom flowed as rivers. Thousand cracked pieces of rock, memorials of the magnificent bygone: they were the entities of my mind, yet tattered, torn apart. Should I refer to it the vast change of my perception, where uncertainty had dominated its vast. None was left but the eerie mood of unknown – mists, violet, darkish gray, and endless atmosphere. Cherished ones torn asunder, shattering into pieces of rock; they were once the great constructions of many sages whom beloved by the lone wanderer, noble projections of himself. Crippled apart as were the great constructions, my consciousness has been more of a chaos.

Alas, ruins of pain! How have I ended up here? Why have I been in this grief? As if storm clouds befall the clearest firmament enjoyed by the thirsted soul, all of a sudden did those memorable ones faded out of sight. Ruins, indeed, ruins of mine. Not a single intact piece of architecture spotted, the ruins have largely become my sorrow, my lost ones. Alas, ruins of misfortune! How have you been recurring in my mind? Why have you been interrupting my meditation! As if the ruins have become the theme of meditation, whenever I clear my mind of the aspects of the world, the ruins show up, accompanied by my grief. An unavoidable misfortune, you are the ghost who haunts throughout days and nights, who perturbs the tranquility of my meditation. For my undoing, why have you been troublesome? For my dearest gratitude, begone!

Much have I sensed; that the sensitivity has become so tangible. A presence that should not have belonged to here, yet is approaching step by step. Wanderer, why have you come across? For that you ought to have been relishing by the sights of magnificence, should you not have descended to this darkened realm of mine. You have found your residence, so will you go and search for it. Yet for now I see you down by the garden of ruins, where none lies but shattered pieces of stones. Nor will you find the most elaborate marble throughout; only remain are those grayish, crude rocks. Begone, for you should not belong to the same situation as mine!

Same will I ask to you. Not for days have you been residing at the coast of dreams, where the journey towards the aspirations takes its beginning. Yet when I descend to the pieces of cracked rocks, a figure that represents no one but you have already been lying around. I heard you chanting; mournful have you become – yet unpredictable, as if you, my friend, are found anywhere by coincidence.

I am, more or less. You shall find me whenever the day becomes gray and dark.

Then have I come to bring you back. My friend, search for your feeling within the deep. Much have you become crippled and thwarted, unable to appreciate the scene lying right here. Ruins are not representations of grief, for that you have seen it far before the demise of spectacles. Ruins have never been merely those shattered rocks, for that the beauty is yet to be found within the elegance within.

You once woke up in ruins. Three years before where the aspirations shine as bright, you were the man in white robe who became in search of nothing. Well did meditation predominate your thoughts, for you had been the wanderer who travelled in mind. Wanderer, seek into your past, where you chanted toward the meaning of life. Upon the expansive lands and vast fields, you stood by tattered rocks, staring ahead. And you woke up in ruins.

Relieve over your grief, my friend! Have you attributed your sadness to the recurring ruins, yet ruins are innocent, irresponsible to the sentimentality. Shall you think upon your great aspirations, those represented by the garden, the magnificence, the meditation. Our aspirations, indeed; It becomes no more than a simple emergence of thoughts over the years, only to enchant us into the incessant search of it. But, my friend, if you look back over the paths we have taken, you shall see nothing but sights observed. And among the sights are no more than what we refer to as expansions. Fields. Cities. Ruins.

You have seen many. Let your vision not be blurred by the temporary sorrow that overwhelms you, for it becomes merely a burst of your emotion. Leave it; let it be relieved. And you will take the ruins as the sanctuary, whereupon you walk by, your knowledge enriched, your wisdom enlightened.

I see. I see roses growing from the crack of these rocks, a resurgence of life. I feel myself greeted by the aroma of blossoms of crimson red, whose brightness renders this place a memorable bit of vibrancy, as if small dots drip onto the canvas of blank. Well have the fog of whiteness receded its pace – let the sky of azure reveal its elegance.

Indeed, for so much time have I been struggling over myself. Yet relief is the best answer: a mitigation in those tensions, a rest from those burdens. Only for this moment will I reconcile with my inner thoughts, regaining the essence of meditation. Only for this moment will I begin to understand what referred to as the meaning of life.

Lone man has been unsuccessfully attempting to please his mind – it fails, inevitably, for he is yet to come into an understanding over his place. Indeed. I woke up in ruins. So let roses grow.