Human condition

Skeletal remains of burnt and blackened trees hiss by the open window, down to cool the wet air heavy and thick with humidity. Plumes of red powdery dust explode from tyres pounding the rough dirt road, snaking through hills older than time itself, unable to tell stories of an age long forgotten, just black and silent, giant and ominous against the eery blue sky, marked with inky clouds sprawling to a horizon hued with golds and reds of a sun just winking into existence, creeping through and exposing the darkness.
The destination is far, but not unknown, the mission is hard but not unfamiliar. Sweat dripping and stinging like venom, he works and executes the will of others, none of this task his own desire. The pain and suffering his only reward. Above him the generals ride the success born on the back of slavery. High in ivory towers, looking down at the plebs that have made them their legacy.
The sun now beating down, physically punishing like a blow from a heavyweight champion, below from the dirt it reflects as if a mirror, above, the gravity seemingly weighing the heat upon him like a vice. Toiling, straining, fighting for the win. His whole world a sauna filled with hurt. Only to return after the day to four dank walls filled with all but a wimdow. Peering to nothingness, often he would gaze out beyond and imagine a place to call his own, a beautifull place that no man may ever find or conquer, himself included. A lesser creature may fall and crumble, but not our hero. Conditioned and toned from a lifetime of struggles, the suffering all to normal, like an old friend never forgotten.
Flies surround the corner of his dried and cracked mouth, desperately seeking their survival in liquid, a luxury he cannot offer even himself, the task too important, watching eyes would not allow.
The midday sun a firey mess, its evil beauty a contradiction. Working with the earth to form an unlovable environment, dead trees, fallen, poking from the earth as a corpse from a grave. Strewn body parts form now unrecognizable fauna, leathery skin torn and picked from bones bleached white. All that lives now seeks cool at day and kills by night, never noticed, always watching from beady evil eyes, ready to strike, sinking poison deep into those a threat, uncannily like the generals from above. He's assulted from all angles, how can this be a way to live, survive.
Then its revealed, far in the distant land, just out of his reach. Like a valkyrie from the gods, ascending to release man from pain, a small solice from a harsh world.
The oasis, lit by the same evil sun attempting to stain the land, sitting proudly on her mantle of beauty is accentuated by the valleys of the giant, ancient hills. Rolling, undulating like a lava flow abruptly stopped and cracked, streaks of colour flow from head to toe within the secrets of the land. Life it seems, could survive in this spot alone. A thousand poets could write a thousand poems for this place of wonder. Pools of cool water, fauna, imigary as painted by the most skillfull hand. A place made for him alone, his fortress of solitude to gather his mind, a small respite from the anguish he must suffer. If only but a minute, a small curl forms across the grey broken lips, he has seen his unreachable place, a crooked smile, this his real reward, happiness in the smallest of things in an otherwise dark and hatefull world. Wonder and amazement, a thought far from most men.

It is a childish attitude to say no to life with all its pain, to say that this is something that should not have been.

Collosal, mamoth, inconceivable is the concept of man, he cannot fathom his own mind nor existance. Life it seems, for eternity, shall remain a mystery.

Dark light philosophy


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