Democracy Falls

 From the time of that day a Faustian deal. I knew that when I started stepping, a force would neither permit me to step further into life nor death. 

 Now I exist as a mediocre mundane smudge. The truth; as to await and rot into death with only the suggestion that there was ever really any choice?

 If you happen to be too good at any given task, you will not be permitted to continue on with it long. 

 Once.. perhaps in my imagination, tangled up into the twine of this human bent reality?

 A strange signal barely readable by some archaic technology long since past. A cymatical ringing, that sounded like a low dense death tone, a call out to the blood hungry. The initiates, I suppose, react as a singular unit of inferior throw away lesser men?

Looking back not long ago?

 When the river was mostly empty and frozen, I used to like to challenge myself by standing on the edge. Democracy falls, named that in the mid 1800's. An old Gold my ning town. I will not say the name. 

 Granted the task, had to be done on a very cold day, but never the same day each year. I remember I would pick out hiking boots specifically for this task. There I would stand on the edge and look down. A frozen water fall, who's potential relied on a shared chaos of nature and seasonal patterns. During the summer months, the snow would melt and create a great cascade of waterfall to hasten. Though tucked away from grandiosity. Over the years I've heard of a couple fatalities. Some folklore that goes way back. Corroborated, a drunken teenager pushing it to far, and too near the edge. Also later on in time, an elderly sightseer, boating too close to the edge. Perhaps distracted by a bird of the season? However during the times of which I speak, small streams would peek out, like the many eyes of God looking through a Swiss board. Bound energy behind the icy covered rock and cliffs edge. Waiting for realease. 

 The seasons partitioned a shared identity of the place of which I speak. A different sort of wonderland would occur months from now, if that time surely ever came? So much as assumed don't you think? Winter seems to have the potential to go on forever here.

 I began to test myself after strange events. 

 At first I'd go back to remind myself that I was alive in the first place. Then it just became a death risk, a habit, I think?

 I was only 9 years old when I came across what would forever change my life in the here and now. A massive 9-ft tall hairy beast with ablazened eyes of a strange pure pulsing blue. The experience wasn't at all a physical threat because I felt quite safe in the great beasts presence. Rather there was an expectant tempo that was shared between the two of us (and probably many others unseen). Perhaps it was just the field around of this here and now, that reminded me. For if I stayed in limbo of shock and awe for too long, this being's presence would surely erase me. 

I mentioned that it changed my life, but I'm not sure if for the better? If one ponder's on all life events, I guess the same conclusion can be met? Was it worth it?

 Looking back and recollecting: Then it came. The object so thick and dense. Surely beyond mass and reason. I could feel the presence of the many, however was made aware of the one. This experience seemed to exist outside of time. As if a subject such as myself could not last the true time lapse(?), nor the exposure of energies involved. 

 A pulsing denura of cymatic satanic pentagonal etching upon my soul and being. The same light would unlock that double-ringed inverted pattern on my forehead where my third eye should be. An instant reckoning of the one true language. A mind-shattering awareness of the uniformity of numbers, patterns, symbols, shapes and signs. 

Did I reveal the wrong color?

 An opening, and awareness, a presence, a state of mind outside of space and time. I seemed to be reminded of another self entirely. There only temptation, and the awareness of limits I must impose in a limitless existence. 

A fleeting moment that may have never happened. 

...and suddenly like a vacuum, the ringing stopped. The ionized excited electrons seemed to stand back down into cumbersome dialectical tone. 

 They were aware of me, or at least were reminded so. Whatever I was connected to? Whatever I truly was or am?  Returned back to the shelf of mediocrity. Strangely a reminder to all parties involved, even unto myself. I had to be returned back onto the shelf. 

 The month was January. The day was the 23rd. The year is not important now. However I advanced 33 years plus 9. 

 That I look down. Attempted the melting patterns more each and every year. Truly I knew down deep in my, within my very bones that I should not be here for at least another week. That is until just after the big storm blows through. I could already tell when crevassing the frozen frugal watered Rivers edge, is the rocks would move beneath my rubber impacting soles for the purpose. Maybe this would be the time they'd come? Maybe I would have to fall first I thought as the years advanced? The more hatred I had of this world and its people the less insane it sounded to fall these 89 ft to the adjacent River bed below. In my short time on this planet I had lost more than my fair share, let's just say. No man is an island but we are surely all made to feel this way. 

 Even though this past time took me towards very similar hobbies. Such as bungee jumping, skydiving doing single leg backflips in a pond, they were all inauthentic training exercises with one primary focus; to be here now. The warm mist that escaped my nostrils, and the dense fog that released from my nervous quivering lungs to mouth. A crick was left in my throat. Surely this would be the time? Somehow in case I step too far? It was one of those moments where nothing alarming seemed to be happening. However moment by moment The edge gave way with no movement at all. My toes parabolically seemed to vanquish out too far a degree from my body to stay alined. Maybe I was seeing things? Maybe every year I pushed it a little further? I don't truly recall each step like I used to, in awareness. I seem to be getting sloppier and less caring, as the years go by.

 However I was reminded of why I had done so much training around this moment that I created for myself. Was this all to undo myself? To find my true self? Asinine, the inner conjecture of the human animal form. That's ridiculous arbitrary notions that go on inside our heads and manifest as selves. I did not react not one muscle nor a quiver. I stepped back. Just as I began a sigh of relief, I must have stepped onto an open Pocket that wasn't quite Frozen enough. I slipped back so fast that I became airborne. I must have fallen down with all my weight from a 3 foot height, right onto my bum, not a legs length from the edge. Depending on the time of the year and the bloodlust of the river that never runs dry not truly, this situation would have been my last. Although I was relieved my relief was less pronounced than my instantly missing what could have been. 

 I imagined instantly as I heaved and moaned. My body was thankful and reluctant to trust the force that lurks within. It (the body) greedily breathed in the cold air, leaving a billow of smokey frozen breath (negative electrons) scattered orbiting about my head. My heart beat ecstatic in recovery. However this ganglionic mass behind my solar plexus missed the negative potential moment in event. A part of my limbic system fell that day. Fell into an imaginary death. One where my body would surely hit the icy rock below, but where my soul would be free to travel on beyond these dimensional restrictions. The tug of war between realities is enough to split a man in two.

  I never thought about the name much 'democracy falls' to me it was just another name of familiar nostalgia from the town of which I grew up. The Cabin that I lived in not a half a mile away was left to me by my grandfather. Humble as it was, it became my only place of refuge so many years ago. No matter how a man may feel about it, he is prone to fish and hunt and kill for his own survival here. I will not disclose the location but let us just say I cannot quite see the northern lights. Plenty of fresh water if you know how to store it properly, and I do. I also know how to cure my meat and stow enough for those hard months that lie ahead in wait. Down in my soul so deep however, I never wanted to hurt anything much less kill it, for my own survival. In my soul I feel like everything is equal, in fact I think the music that comes from a simple songbird is more beautiful than I've ever heard coming from any human mouth. 

 Out here survival pushes a man into the mind of supremacy, else he becomes food for another beast that has the will to do so. 

 Strangely I somehow felt rejected that day, that night, that is so hazy to me now. I will however never forget those eyes, nor the feeling and the imprint into my very being. 

 What doing here? 

Did they just happen stance upon me?

Though it didn't seem to be so. Did I disappoint them? I definitely felt that (as I recollect) "yes, yes I think that I fell short of their expectations some how?". Within a part of me I was so certain of this. However quite completely I felt at peace with the situation. Maybe it left the rest of my life seeming as so..well boring and inauthentic (as I stated prior)? As if a soda bottle that was opened up hours before consumption. The carbonation was lost, the effervescence had faded in glory. 

 I scraped myself up, from the lake bed. Strangely I felt the sense of shame and cowardice. It was too cold to feel the bruising. I wanted to remind myself to live. This just happened a couple of Winters ago now. Since then, I lost my strength for dare. Perhaps I was aware that the risk was worth it then? Perhaps a part of me knew that I would never be the same again? 

 I wonder nowadays what is life? When we lose the risk do we also lose the muse?

 One thing I know is that something very dark and ominous is awaiting.

Stellarmass13