A realization to reality is nothing like a discovery of imagination. My thrills are mistakes in the hearts of my on lookers in the distress of my life. But I find pleasure in my mind to fortify in my heart my opinion of my upbringing, I am me thanks to the mistakes made by others for me; I have grown from the child I was to the person I am because of my own trials and indifferences in life. Each day has bring to me the though, meditation, and acceptance to the part of life that is the universal fate. My humanity is my immortality; it brings forth the feeling of insanity of my being.
The world will not halt, nor will it mourn the loss of my existence, my entirety of being will be lost in the endless vast of others that are living. The ones that have supposedly achieved immortality in their acts in history, they themselves are as lost as I shall be.
For, whom can tell us of their homes and lives, of their wishes as a child, nor can anyone imply their dreams before their fate was laid before them and their impact on society imprinted in ink upon the paper. Their own inner most thoughts being shielded away from the world by their political masks and words. My own point being in that no matter how hard humanity strives, nor how important the impact of a person was, or may be to us all, we all are ensued to the same fate. So why do we strive to live beyond what we have, what moves us to make our wildest dreams a reality when others with simple plain views say ‘tis not possible. What inside of us revivers at the thought of not making an imprint in the life of one being, to be one in the same as the rest? Maybe it’s our knowledge that our time will end, that our life span will cease to exist soon, we attempt to be in the lore of ours and others offspring. The fables that we have heard so many times as a child we wish to be a part of. We want our opinions to outlast the impact that we have given to our planet. We attaint an image of finishing in our souls and work toward it for rewards that cannot be ensured by anything more than a feeling as old as humanity it’s self, a feeling we call faith; one so strong that it can overpower facts that we know to be true.
A delusion of something we know not if there be. Then in the face of blatant faith we create hate toward those who wish to defile our faith and bring forth views we care not to explore for fear we may be wrong. We turn our faces away from the insult and reality of what we have done to others in assurance that it will go away for us to be happy again, with such blasphemy upon our lips as to say “’ ‘Twas not I who has objected to your words, ‘twas my faith in one who turns from your words!” Then as if to say that we are better than them we create boxes’ to fit them in and make them what we wish them to be, forming a cage we call society and rule as almighty. We blame others for our faults and label them as the ones who are impure of mind, speech, and body. Turning ours and others beauty to rage, leaving in it’s after math only fear of difference. Why should we put forth our arms in caring concern when we can throw forth others hate in mindless and listless ways. We assume that the outer shell of the people around us is the only demission of their being when truly it’s deeper than what we see and more of what they see. Each view of our world is different from the next. But we seem too lazy to implore upon our minds the question, “What if there's more?" We are able to presume what we want but my true question (and assumption really.) Is what we do as human beings want? Understanding, love, faith, trust, companionship, knowledge, everything. We hold so many emotions that make us Human; the passion to love another, the faith in a god we can not see, the lust for the ones we desire, the guilt that brings us to our knees, the empathy that allows us to understand! We hold so much but we want more? How can we be so greedy and not feel that Human guilt? Our ideas of perfection are so far from the truth. We think something that is metal, clock work, and timely is perfect. But can it feel the vast span of emotions we can? Can it think of things with a view that encompasses what we do? How can that be perfect when we are not? An IMPERFECT person can not make a PERFECT being. It's as if the blind man is leading a blind man.
Before I ensue too much more of your time I'll end this Rant with one thought: If Humanity is so powerful, then why do we still see small children abused, lost, alone, angry, and misunderstood. All the great things we have done, all that we have accomplished is lost in the fact that we still can not help our own children survive because we end their life with our own hands. Human immortality is lost in Human imperfection.