2:16 p.m. - April 18, 2011
The Burning of Maya
Maya the illusion. That which is not part of all, but yet is everything. Bramah is all elusive, all pain without sorrow. And when we dwindle down the ladder we see that we never left. I've been here, not really moving up, just loosing grip on what I used to have. False pretenses, all becomes excuses to reach the Nothing. There is everything or Nothing, and I don't want either. I want beyond what is known. But first let me harvest the weeds. Let me raise up the beetle from the ground. Let me raise all malice upon this ground, that is without. Everything decays, Oh what a glorious day. Holiest is Death.