The Beach

[rabid reader]

The idol thought that patrols the costal regions of idea and grief. I am on a beach on a stormy day, the waters are treacherous, slashing huge waves against the rock wall ahead. Waves of idea colliding with the walls of my ignorance, protecting me from pain, but keeping me from getting wet.

I sit on the beach and ponder the rock, wishing to just put my head in the ocean, but decide not, because of fear, maybe I will not rise again.

The separation from greatness is almost impossible to realize. The threat of another Greek Box always centre in my mind. Greatness with penalty obliviously large and tremendous. The same for all who sell their soul for immortality. I will debate it's worth with all my logic.

The temptation is great, to step upon that rock and take a drink. Let the pool suck me below and allow greatness for shorter life. I drown but I live forever, in memory, but betrayal will occur as it always does... am I strong enough to make this jump.

My mind debates the ages of questions. I know nothing more, then i still stand on the shore... maybe greatness is the dive, to sacrifice all for one moment of glory... I wish for simplicity, yet that wish always leads me back to my beach

[Morad]

Thanks dear for sharing this :) I read it from the begining to the end, and I like it ...

[rabid reader]

looking back at some of my old stuff from last year, I found one of my favourite pieces. This short story really sums up my ideas of what Greatness entails. I had developed this philosophy as a child that all great people are delt a great weakness, the highest and lowest cards in a deck, I called them Aces of God (also this makes for my internet persona across the web except at a few sites). Mostly I found that the brilliant of my were also prone to madness or had already succumbed to it. I hypothesized that it was in their ability to see the world from unique perspectives that made their creativity, but automatically made them "crazy" or "Weird" as they did not share a point of view (of the world) with society. This of course isolating them till eventually, left with there many thoughts they deteriorate into madness, betrayed by their gift of creativity. I always draw the image of a wreck less ocean when thinking of creativity because of these ideas. The ocean is in the head, it is intelligence. The man is hidden behind his walls of ignorance protecting himself from the eventual madness of the ocean waters. The rocks represent ignorance. And here is the thoughts of a man who is debating whether or not to sacrifice his sanity to understand and brake down he walls of his ignorance.

I have re-written the piece, still quite short I tried to make it easier to read. Once again it was this written concept that I have based much of my current short story and poetry written upon. From the whale analogies to the rocking boats.

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The idol thought that patrols the coast of ideas and grief. On the beach during a stormy day, the waters are treacherous, slashing huge waves against the rock wall ahead. Waves of ideas, and simplistic creativity, colliding with the walls of my ignorance, protecting me from pain, but keeping me from getting wet.
Sitting on this cold beach I ponder the rock. This monument of sanctuary and jailer of my greatness. I ponder the water and its librating creativity, and wish to just put my head into the salty ocean and succumb to my temptation and madness, but I decide not to, because of the fear: If I dive will I rise again?
This separation from greatness is almost impossible to carry. Knowing that with only wetting my hair I could hold in my mind the cleansed thoughts of pure creativity that would even be the envy of a child, yet the threat of another Greek Box always centre in my mind, keeping me grounded in my free. Greatness with penalty obliviously large and tremendous. The same for all who sell their soul for immortality. I will debate it's worth with all my logic.
The temptation is penetrating, to step upon that rock and take a drink. Let the pool suck me below and allow greatness for shorter life. I drown but I live forever, in memory, but betrayal will occur as it always doesn’t it-- as the creativity sets, the madness will light a flame, a flame that can burn through the ocean as it was lit by the waters. Am I willing to sell my soul to such betrayal?
My mind debates the ages of questions. I know nothing more, but I still stand on the shore-- maybe greatness is the dive, to sacrifice all for one moment of glory-- The water is the madness and not the spark, those who wish to throw away there lives have all the blessings of the second long saint. This is all to complicated and I begin to flee, my beach and my temptations. Though I find my self wishing for simplicity and still that wish always leads me back to my beach.