There is so much to say and such small words to say it with.  Who hurt you?  Who caused you to suffer loss; who brought about an unrealized soul?  No room for reflection; no room for thought – a time of repression, a time of distraught.
No matter where you go, there are lost souls. They are all around. They exist in buildings and cars, shops on Main Street, homes in neighborhoods, businesses in skyscrapers, and little eateries on the corner street.  Lost Souls – the kind that go to work every day and come home unfulfilled and unrealized.  They go to churches, the movies, bars and restaurants, and seek recreation in the hopes of fulfillment, but they are all empty.  The soccer fields and the baseball diamonds are a noisy quiet, just shells remain.
In the bedroom of every house exists a child under realized and over-worked.   Schedules are filled with things to do and places to go, but no one really goes anywhere.  Televisions and video games fill the spaces of empty lives, but nobody really lives – nobody really feels.  How sad a race of being we have become – how sad a species.  We have become deluded and the only ones we really have to blame is ourselves.  There is no devil in the detail; there is only ourselves and our failures.  We are a species bred to fail by our own generational curse of being told what to do and how to act.  We dress one way because we are told to, we buy things that are not necessary for self-realization, but we are told it will happen.  We buy the lies of men in pulpits, politicians behind podiums, and salesmen behind desks.  And nothing else happens.
Nothing else changes until we are wakened.  We are stirred by that constant pricking of the soul – its needle poking up against armadillo skin until finally it pierces us into the painful reality of what we have become – an unrealized mess of full potential.  Oh how painful that wakening can be.  For some, the price is too much to bear, and others, too paralyzing to rise to their feet.  But for a few, they rise.
No matter how many times they stumble to their feet, they rise and stare reality in the face as it stares back at them with a toothy grin like a thief caught in the act.  That reality: the machine that keeps us docile and in slumber, the system that burns us up in a Matrix-like reality; the man behind the curtain.  And so we stand there looking back in its eyes in defiant wonder – defiant of the trickery and deceit; the elixir of life flowing in us now like the gushing Falls of Niagara, and we just stare with fists clenched and feet ready, and then we become realized.
Posted On: Baile Ronin - my other and new blog.

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