I Can Hear You

I can see you, you know.

Pacing back and forth the outline of your cage which you don’t even acknowledge. It’s there, visible to All – but you.

Yet your soul, it sees it – sees and knows very well the prison you are in. And so you frantically run to capture Others: other animals (we don’t suspect that we are an animal, do we?), other humans, plants, chemicals, sunlight, water. The very Earth and all of Space you’d set within bounds, for that way you might think that you control it.

I can hear you, you know.

The BeanSidhe wail in the midnight of your dreaming - All coming apart, as if you never held it immobile in your hands.
The crescendo chattering, signifying …Nothing. You use so many words at such a volume to say nothing of import at all.

And your soul hears it, too – that hysterical attempt to cover the roaring silence of your heart with: loud bangs! Sky rockets! Impersonal radio ditties! Dialogue on which system of imprisonment serves The People best!

I can smell you, you know.

Rank ester of decaying spirit masked by a myriad chemicals. Maybe this new one will change your life, make you happier, more fulfilled, more…Free.

But free is the one thing you will never be, my beloved brothers, sisters, cousins and children.
So long as you do not see, hear or smell yourselves, let alone the trap that you have constructed for yourselves.

It’s easy.
See the Trap.
Locate the Exit.
Walk out.

But you won’t do it, will you?
You’d rather all of Life was murdered on the altar of your vanity – the vanity that you, alone of all Creation, know what it’s there for, and what to do with it.
The vanity that the womb and all Her children have but one purpose – to serve Man.
The vanity that if you starve your nature long enough, kill enough of the Other, obliterate that which points an accusatory finger, yell loudly enough, close your eyes for long enough, it will all turn out OK in the end.
But you know – your soul knows – that it never will.