With the image of a fabled realm in one's mind's eye it tends to be tough to accept reality, beneath the dark--yet often illusory--appearance of which hides the content of a beauty as yet unseen, the luster of which outshines all imagination: For this reality is the truth, which is the most reliable guide on the road, in whichever direction one sets off, and is the only rescue from the deadly fall into a torturous falsehood that uglifies all that one looks at, throwing one into a wild sadness the only tiding of which is ruination.
And sometimes one thrusts oneself to the ground in despair, full of questions and accusations that all that one touches vanishes, that all that one looks at disappears and that all that one has heard falls into silence... calling it a nonsensical, painful loss, for one is absolutely confused. But what if one's intrinsic existence has predestined it to fall? What if one's words have shied away understanding and one's silence established confusion? What if one's thoughts have created a destructive energy? What if one's deeds have built the end? What if one oneself is the creator of the end?
Aye, the world conceals a lot of evil, but even evil is not unlimited: It is just that one must not let oneself be caught up in illusion and be ensnared in it, for there always exists a way both "there" and "back" -- and who disbelieves this will never get out of there.
It is not about a shiny facade, neither is it about material things -- it is about inner wealth, faith and that unpopular otherness that will detach one from the outer world but fulfill one with the beauty of the inner world. One must be different to remain oneself; one must die to be reborn; and one can find happiness only in pain... The consciousness of the world matters not, what matters is the truth!
What Lies in Silence ⇇ ⇇
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