Figures of What We Owe

(1) The Talisman:

Figures… the black shadows tailoring actions as one rides as passenger in their own life.

Angst, the opportunity to step back, notice the conditions of one’s home, their state, their direction. “Is there any motive in play that is my own? What figure possesses me today? Is it the same figure from before?”

In this position, this fear, this angst, is an opportunity to witness self-decay. No longer does one need to surrender to suffering, to be ended by their woes. The same architecture of woes built to wage war against the spirit. Cast away the rotted seeds while there is time.

[Follow Fear, introduce unto life the path to reflection. Who will you see?]

(2) The Passenger:

Once at the forefront of it all, what is there to relinquish? Does one know of any one thing to grapple with? The reflection before the eyes shows the peculiar sight of every being possessing the passenger. The terror challenge before the passenger is now to converse with the demon of today.

Within the frame, the failures and anguish are demonstrated. The passenger may weep at the unknown correlations between the past and present. Because even the fabric beneath their feet is uncategorized, the ground beneath each utterance is unstable.

Lurking outside the frame is the demon of tomorrow. Seemingly insurmountable, simply empty the pockets, reveal what tools are at hand. Dare to understand? Or continue life as the same feeble prey of yesterday?

[Unveil the master, carve out from your core the rotted seeds. You need not owe the untamed domains your finite existence.]

(3) To Not Remember:

Squander the opportunity, a time rarely afforded and revealed – The passenger will be cast deep into the mire of fiction and fantasy. The substrate of reality will lie forever dormant, crushed by their woven artificial. It’s easier this way. If the sole victim can not recall, it never happened.

Is this the way? Will life continue the same?

The doors close and angst fades, simply a temporary refrain from the mundane. Yet, the worm of complacency burrows deep within the rot of the soul.

[You might never wander those shores again. These doors might be sealed forever.]