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Inspired to elaborate further into each of my self images,

I revisit history and highlight my experiences.

Experiences that allowed metaphoric vessels to age and cremate by my hand.

To witness change and transformation of the mind.

To let every chemical of my nervous system excrete conditional change from within.

To flip the observatory world outside and all around me,

To shift in light, colour and all of it’s perpetual demonstrations.

For the origin, is the pre-cursor of the beginning.

A tree for a reader to sprout by the roots beneath a land determining our very survival.

To be able to connect, relate and understand that all that there ever will be.

We, the product of beginnings, sensing a crave to purpose and meaning.

If we choose to be aware of the beginning and be present with every feeling,

Than we deliver an origin founded for the rest of our lives to live on with.

An origin, also known as a collection of mirrors, set up perfectly to reflect the directive light of society.

School, religion and mannerly affliction, then must await for our consumption.

Lack of knowledge to the deep self of sense, as information influences our ears both left and right,
All while being shoved with THE ‘way of life’ that situates directly in front of us.

Oh, how ugly that poised situation presents.

Void of imagination and sensory pleasants.

A sense of false hood projected by our predecessors.

One who questions or appose to the out-of-the-norm ideas are than left to identify as ‘out-casted.’

For this was the day society had branched out our future, growing leaves where only rock would surround and a permanent shade clouded us.

We think, “Something has to be wrong with everyone else.”

All those leaves that grew the other way. How can they not see what I see?

But in this reality, the prescription medication has all the ‘correct’ ingredients.

Ingredients to fertilise our minds and keep us as green as possible all while having convinced, that the wrong is in me.

And so commences a new era of being.

The era of being dead.

The world plunges into chaotic disassociation, and you can’t help but sense that you’re the anomaly that never belonged.

Life around you seems to flourish.

All the leaves turn green, while you are left to brown.

The photosynthetic taste of sunlight, inches away, but the shade is all that feeds me.

Are we not but the outcome of a genetical error than? The first of it’s kind.

Perhaps our purpose was to test the despair and see if the climate, suitable for us to be spared.

And yet it is not.

For leaves flourish in sunlight not rock.

While we brown evermore, we act like a leaf still living, and the world around us however leaves us alone.

It’s not too bad, to be seen as ‘sick’ for we find comfort in sickness, in our anger and our jealous receptiveness.

Who needs the sun, and the water, and the wind? HA, not I.

Inside, we weaken, and we know any day now, we’re about to snap. . .

Though who cares really.

For to reach the bottom of the ground, where we only hear tales of our doom,
we never actually believed that we may one day know what death looks like ourselves.

And as the shade above, so below, and there is no need to continue to look up anymore.

For the dark cloak is heavy and predictable, and the rest of society now seems beyond reach.

I am but an alien on a foreign planet, a planet that has been around for so long,

I am a leaf with no sound.

There is no wind in the shades I reside under, for I cannot whistle like my sisters and brothers.

So I look to the ground, and accept my starvation from the hydration that kept me green for as short as my life span was destined.

Oh that tree, that made me.. me. Now scarce for any liquid to support my way of thought.

And I continue to stare at that barren ground…

Death now seems imminent for I do not belong, and as I snap off that branch and begin to descend,
I find myself crying within my car in a botanical garden.

All night in the back seat of my car,
Under my blanket,
that protected the last cold night I ever wanted to experience again.

I cried as I fell.

Brown and weak, the next day couldn’t come any sooner than my weeps.

The next day did come.

I travelled and listened to music that I couldn’t help but find beauty in, as I always did.

I listened this time to it, so loudly in restaurants that I couldn’t care who’s ears these lyrics fell upon.

For I was already in the veil of the dead amongst the living,

And I was invisible to everyone around me.

The voices of excitement, of children laughing, adults eating, conversations and even breathing.
Nature too with her melodic equivalent,
They all became prominent amongst the music that played on my Ipad.

And so I continued driving on, wherever the road and intuition would lead me.

As I caught speed from the distance of the branch, the wind began to sweep me.

And I took a left down to seek a mountain that a very small sign would direct me.

“So this is what wind feels like huh..?” I thought, so carelessly.

I became lost once more, but that’s okay cause this time was the last time to be lost, mattering mattered not.

I was blown so far, I passed the front of the house that housed a little boy who answered my knock.

“Is your mother home?” I awkwardly ask, but what does this boy know? I was a stranger on his doorstep he’s never laid eyes on.

And before I thought it was best to leave, a lady appears.

She points me in the direction for my request was clear, and off I went.

And it wasn’t long before I was sitting in front of the most unimpressive waterfall.

“Just like you, I too was forgotten about.” Something must have gone wrong in our placement upon this world.

And then something strange happened, as the wind continues to prolong my descent to the ground..

I realised it was eleven in the morning and I was supposed to be where I was meant to be… at my mundane job, but there you did not find me.

For I was in the front of a this waterfall and nobody but an ex-girlfriend suspected anything,
And excitement began to fill inside me.

I was already dead and nobody knew otherwise.

I was already dead and freedom was already being polarised.

The wind blew me in a direction I never intended and now I’m apparent to the dance we share in.

If this was death why would I ever want to actually live?

I picked up my things and I let the wind guide me,
for every bit of instinct and intuition,
which I’ve never listened to really,
became so sound that the dance was so majestic, this was what being connected with nature actually felt like.

I was the leaf with the wind now and though the ground only meters away, the music did not stop yet.

I found myself in a little town in the mountains.
All my final tax dollars locked a room inside a motel that crafted interesting beers from the land where dreams could be made on.

“The irony”, I thought as I took a sip of the brew.

I then headed out and saw every crack on the floor, every bird’s wingspan as it flew in precision with mass I never had noticed before.

I saw the beads that belonged to dogs housing reactive experiences in ways that exemplified their curiosity and love.

I heard every noise, made by every mould, made by every movement, that was rubbed by every parch of clothing, as doors opened, and cashiers connected sounds from person to interaction.

For what I was experiencing was a phenomena.

I was truly dead and in death this allocated depth was reserved for me, and once the day had passed and the beauty of all that I experienced was passing, I had now become inches from the ground.

It’s time for veil to be left behind.

At the end of the day I was something that did not belong in a world of green and such order.

I was by far too brown to even be recognised from the ground.

And reality struck me once more.

I cried. Oh I cried.

I cried so much because all I wanted was to be the leaf that deserved to flourish.

All I wanted was to taste the sweetness of the sun, the pitter of the rain,

I wanted the wind to visit me more regularly than the shade.

I wanted to be so far away from my stone neighbors and the darkness that had to befall on me.

Why me though?

I deserved the same chance to experience all of this society had to deliver.. Did I not?

Was I really just an error or even worse, a failed subject?

Was I born wrong, with the wrong mind, and the wrong brain at the wrong time?

Am I meant to be only a story repeated and remembered by how sickly I really was, how abstract my thinking was?

To be a legacy for a month, a memory for a year, and then history for the decade after?

To be forgotten as my new nieces and nephews whom would be born uncle-less and all my incredible odds to my existence, would be simply expressed within seconds to them, “You had an uncle once, but he died. He wasn’t well.”

And eventually those eleven words would not be repeated one generation down the line.

And so this was a cruel joke is all I could decide upon.

My life than must be cut away and for once I felt I was actually in tune with myself.

“Purpose and meaning..” I thought, “I guess even this has it’s place.”

And I cried, oh you have no idea how much I cried.

Holding that kitchen blade where it needed to slice.

To permanently let go the ether that tied my heart beat to this world.

And as the sadness and pain completely took me, the leaf finally came to the ground and than my eyes opened widely.

For I was now the ground, the dirt, the brown. I was no longer a leaf apart of the tree that didn’t belong.

I was home and I knew it before I even could know that I knew it.

The dirt was a sense I never knew could be had.

So unimportant it seemed. So separate to me.

Nothing but dirt, but I saw now the roots underground.

I saw the sprouts and the tree before it was even a seedling.

Every ripple and crevice that interlinked the growth towards skies and the branches out of it’s sides.

All the leaves that populated from this, and even the branch that ascended into the dark cloak of the rocks that would house my very short existence.

Except it was not a roose, it was a plan. For if I never was born to die, I would never hit this ground.

If I never hit this ground the tree would never be born, be born in my mind, the way that it has so sound.

This is the sight which no green leaf could bare witness, for it stemmed from being an anomaly in an experience that was completely foreign to nature’s design.

And my spirit left my body as I watched my gaze struck into the ceiling.

As I checked out, practically dead, having an outer body experience,
I met with a 360 degree version from a perception that gravity had always denied me.

And now I could even mould through material as I ascended through ceiling and out from the roof where my peripherals would meet architecture and forest, surrounded by mountains.

And I kept ascending as the carbon dioxide became thinner, as the skies, that once was reserved for planes and clouds and other atomical structure lacked organicity by nature, nor seen by eye.

AND yet I kept ascending as the land began to all look alike, blue, green and brown, a colour palette that now making sense as I edged towards the atmosphere, I found myself in space.

Not to far to forever be on a trajectory into the unknown, nor any temptation to be either.

For I was too caught in awe at the planet’s expression before me.

And then my tunnel vision, so laser focused, honed in on a frazzling light that I knew had to be me.

And how bright I was.

I was the spark we would celebrate birthdays with, and though those sparklers had a time limit, my one did not.

Magnified in size, I zapped across countries, like matter that flashes into creation as quickly as it does out, free willed.

I spread across the entire globe and I was so beautiful and one with the experience, I knew that I was feeling what gods must feel upon a timeline of eon.

Now though it felt like eons, it was a matter of minutes, this experience of mine.

And I started descending, as the brown leaf now felt peace.

I started fading, becoming food for the plants around me.

And I was okay to be dead as I was at peace with my transitioning.

As nothing of my leaf was left, I made my way back into my body and a new sensory of existence commenced.

This was the day I died, but not in the way I thought it was to end.

This was the origin story riddled in death.

My own personal seeking of happiness.

To have felt what gods have felt forever, I now knew I had a mission to accomplish.

And no, it was not a mission of preach, no selfless act to give to something else.

In fact it was selfish by every definition of the word.

For I now completed my transition, and my reward was MY reward.

A seeker of happiness, to now figure out how to live like a god again, for longer than minutes.

And so the first version of CDY comes to an end.

Death is met,

The veil closes.

All alone, with nobody around, as it was always supposed to be.

For we are born into this world and we all will die alone, again and again, and again, and again, and again.

Until our leaves feed the earth once more.

Origins