De-portraying the self

It happened and I could not help, for this was a grave issue I have to put up with. I was guilty of it, and remained gnawed at heart since then. Indeed I was in the wrong, for the shadow of the crime follows me every step I take. A recollection I can not efface from my mind notwithstanding the fact that I traveled a lot, held a prolonged ceremonial pilgrimage, took active part in religious services, and lived engrossed in charitable works. I am guiltily living all the time and no steps press on without being conscious of it, this unpardonably disgraceful thing. I felt my birth had no meaning, and of course I left no marks but stains of sinful and deviant deeds. My birth has shamed my mother, defamed my father, ill-reputed my brothers, and disgraced my society.


I am head on a precipice; yet I cannot look back in hope; for going back is a matter of shame for my kinship, and in point of fact my being there mortifies my fellows and ulcerate all who live a life of spotlessness. The essence of my presence here is indeed likened to a serpent in the Garden of Eden, a curse everyone wants to cleanse oneself of.

The urge to manifest and honor every one with viler and baser parts of me, the constituents of my existence is very strong, for I am Beelzebub incarnate. Not that I am in the clear and ignorant of the villainies of mine. I am capacitated to do the incredible for once upon a time I was an archangel, consecrated; now a desire, or the rebellious within me triumphed over all my divinities. I am an anarchist and am unwilling to be ruled, a fugitive off center. The center failed to hold me, for I voiced against authority, the system with which all are converging. The laws that are so universal and so general do not fascinate me, and a force that is centripetal to one and all cannot bind me to a world of orthodoxies. I am a renegade everyone of the system is disdainful of, a repulsive heretic. I am kind of one who pull down the monuments of ideals and wipe out the mantle of traditions. History is flawed, bogusly simulated and fittingly appropriated, interpreted to embody a class and speak for an upper segment or crust of the society that encapsulates ruling classes. Brusquely speaking it annotates things solely in the interests of the patrician few. I am indeed not part of the history and boycott it. I am of course ostracized, and indeed not in it notwithstanding the fact that I am deep within it bodily and carnally.

I am stratified, classified, segmented and leagued in my society despite the fact that they are weak strings threading me through. For I am underneath all these veneers something classifiers can not unfold. This is injustice and that stirred up something, vilely and nauseatingly fits of irritation and pangs of vexations.

I am something that does not accord with things, discordant with things that cannot synchronize with values and norms.



I am in sync with antagonism, having said so not sadistic. The sum and substance of me is not in conflict with humanity, but with the veneers that camouflage it. I am not in disharmony with nature, but with the label that masks the fiendish man. I am rebel and want that man’s existence is redefined.

Let me shake off all I have been coercively laden with by my family members, my schools, and my societies. Let me undo or unwind all that I gleaned and garnered, and unlearn all I have valued under a veil of social and moral codes that are very weak and fragile. I want to deprogram the indoctrination and catechization.

Border, nationality, race, identity, religiosity, education, values, norms, standards, ethnicity are veneers, and guises and I want to strip myself of all these externals and fly like a bird on my wings against the infinity of course in defiance of the conventionalities I am pressed with.

Is this post boring? It is not in fact a self portrayal, though I said about myself. The feeling can permeate through many in point of fact. Of course it forms bits of you too.