Stream of Consciousness Writing - Part I

Reading in the wind, amongst the trees, deep in the valley. My place of freedom, of warmth, of wrath. my place to rule, my place to sit amongst the other creatures, filling myself with their knowledge and learning. Learning to breathe. Learning to love. Learning to take in the smell of the air, the warmth of the heat, and shiver of the cold. What is this place? Is it an escape? No. Is it a retreat? Nay, it is not. It is home. A home for the heart. A home where I may reside without bother. Where I may write, read, love, live, explore, adventure into the wilderness, become myself. Be myself.

But evil comes and evil goes. Wherever the wind make take it. Or does it itself control the wind? Perhaps...perhaps it chases me. Attacks me. Runs through me, over me, like a train against the air. I am air. Evil is the train. But the attacks cannot kill me, simply send me into chaos. What is chaos? It is what I am when evil has attacked. Yes, as I repeat it again, evil changes me to chaos. It does not destroy me, but instead it destroys my home. It takes away my ability to write, read, love, live, explore, adventure into the wilderness, become myself. Be myself.

Where does my home go? It disbands, but only temporarily. Eventually I can build it back again. And when the wind blows evil back to my home, it will be destroyed once more, and I will build it back once more. Over and over, building back my home. I wish I could, but I cannot call it my refuge, for it does not keep my safe. If anything, it puts me in harms way. But I must hold onto it. It lets me live. It teaches me to live. It lets me understand. I must keep it. Hold onto it as tightly as possible. My yearning for it is unbearable. No matter how many times evil destroys my home, and scares away the other creatures, and takes away the knowledge and the learning, I must re-build my home. Persevere to keep my home. I must write, read, love, live, explore, adventure into the wilderness, become myself. Be myself.

This is the only way for me to live. Otherwise I will die. Not physically, but in every other way. My mind will rot into nothingness, only to act as feed for the worms and other creepers and crawlers of the earth. My heart will turn to hard metal, only to rust and dissolve into oblivion, forming the ashes of a past fireplace. My soul will disappear. It will never be seen again, nor will it exist. I will die. Nay, I must write. I must read. I must love. I must live. I must explore. I must adventure into the wilderness. I must become myself. I must BE myself.

-Phil