The Common Man

    Look out the window, at the endless blue and green interrupted by intruding, stubbornly protruding buildings. Watch those building made of temporary concrete rise and fall, as they rise higher, feasting on our sweat and pain, as they morph into homes and beauty before they give way to the fire. Fire that we delude ourselves into thinking we can tame and control, when it controls us.


    The world watches as we walk by carrying our fleeting emotions of mortality with us, leaving temporary trails of our footprints. Prints that last merely hours, undistinguishable and ordinary. Common prints, mocking us as we trudge harder. Yet they last shorter in snow and mud, as the ground deceptively gives way and caves in. And as the ground gives way, as we thrust our feet in harder, as we sweat blood and tears and our hearts beat harder, we feel but mere fleeting satisfaction, for as we let go and step forward again, the print left behind is buried beneath the upper walls previously made. The universe is laughing, for it only appears below us in what is the greatest deception, appearing nothing but dirty mud, or plain, barren snow. Sometimes it hides beneath great carpets of beauty, below grass and forests, hiding as it quietly gives rise to all that is beautiful in this world, for our mortal eyes only comprehend the vast, majesty of what are trees and the whole generations it sustains. The Earth laughs, for we relish chopping down those very life forms, relish the fact that we are destroying life, when we are merely destroying what actually feeds on life. For life itself is energy, and energy cannot be created nor destroyed, for it lays untouched beneath our feet or miles above our head. Where it lies matters not, for either way it mocks us. It mocks humanity, watching and watching as we trudge forth with our blind, thirsty hunger to further ourselves, improve or destroy ourselves and move further, trudging on in a blind, fruitless pursuit. And we are all slaves to our hunger, as we destroy our fellow brethren, plants and animals alike to sustain ourselves and assuage the hunger.

But all of us, humans, plants and animals, we are mere parasites feeding on life. We are not life. Life is not the trees, not the animals that sway from branch to branch, or those that part tons of water with a single, mighty stroke. We are vessels, empty, hollow packages that hold energy for fleeting moments before the packaging breaks in, or till we ultimately consume ourselves. We are only vessels, vessels deluded into thinking that we are the kings and queens of life, that all life around us need us. We are mere vessels that feed on the Earth and the Sun-what truly lives, what truly feeds us, for they mock us, again and again, because we cannot live without them.


    And they watch us, they watch. Doing nothing, saying nothing, as they see the specks of mortality dying and multiplying, consuming and destroying, hurting ourselves, our vessels. We are nothing, these bodies nothing in the vast spectrum of moving, swirling energy which is life.