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A Loon Alone

Contemplative Writing

By Chelas MontanyePublished 7 months ago 3 min read
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Twinkle, twinkle little star, how we wonder what we are. Pain and suffering and white mice running through mazes seeking out the cheese at the end of the maze.

Don’t ask, don’t ask, don’t ask. The answers will drive you into madness.

There’s no book, no driver’s manual, not even breadcrumbs to follow. When at your limit, you throw yourself upon the ground and beg for mercy from the cruelty of the life we live, surrendering yourself to the whim of our creator, you will go mad with the answers that come. We are not made to have our heads filled with information that we cannot process. What you see you will want to tell the ones you know are seeking that truth, but to them you will sound like noise on a train, in a tunnel, on a rail, with its wheels scraping the metal and squealing at every turn. It will make no sense to anyone but you.

To understand is the most terrifying image, with no one to guide you through the gallery, you will find yourself lost in a sea of madness. Hearing voices that only you can hear, seeing signs that no one else sees and envisioning futures that no one else can. You will be excluded from the reality that others still follow, and you will walk that path alone. Once, here and there, you might encounter others who also surrendered out of desperation. Seeking help from people who cannot help them. But you will not be comrades on the same journey, because you will find that it is impossible to communicate the experiences. Each sees their own truths and are desperately seeking to convey their message onto the other. You will sound like madmen in an asylum. Drooling and staring at the wall while slinking into a coiling hypnotic state of delusion. Hypnotism is what we might call it, Self-hypnotism. Which one of us is seeing the truth and who of us has broken the spell? Or are we all just mad?

Let it be, let it be, let it be. We are free, free, free. Free to seek out the truths, even if others strike us with death. Death is just the beginning of our journey. Do you understand? Journeyman? Drop to your knees and beg to surrender in exchange for the answers to life, and succumb to the madness of thoughts that are not your own. You will never be able to finish a complete sentence again. Your mind will move quicker than your mouth can speak, and when spoken aloud, they will step away from your crazed interactions.

With time, the delusions will fade, but the passion for understanding will also dim, until you start seeking those answers again. Then the memories start to flood back and you will crave that mad state of affairs. You will wander, desperately seeking your way back to it, like a junkie looking for another high. You will sound madder than when you knew the truths that you once sought years before. The answer, drop to your knees and surrender again. Beg your way back into the mercy of that wonder. Into the madness that you once sought to return from. People will see you for what you are, a madman to some, a cleric of endless knowledge to others, an unfit human incapable of following the maze that was laid out for you. The mouse that climbs over the walls and is put down for not following the rules of the men in those white jackets. With needles sticking and pricking your skin, and pills forced into your mouth. I’m not crazy, I just want to know the truth. But you are, because you weren’t meant for that. You’re just a screamer, chanting the end of the world. You sound like a loon in the wild of the jungle. Babbling on like the creek that it drinks from. Destined to be torn to shreds like the meat you are. Food for the cat that hunts you. The snake that eats your young. The snake of eternity. Mad for eternity.

surreal poetry
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About the Creator

Chelas Montanye

I’m an advocate for education and equal health care. I love satire. I love to express myself through art and writing. Social issues fascinate and astound me. Co-founder of Art of Recycle.

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  • Mother Combs7 months ago

    Good one

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