An End To The Storm

Some times, it is not the madness in our lives that gets to us the most, it is the swirling chaos of our mind.

         He stood in a vast emptiness, a white void escaping in all directions. He saw nothing, but felt a sense of wholeness.

         “It’s so quiet here.”

         “And empty.”

         He spurred to see a large beast, stance like a totem.

         “I remember you, Souljin the Gurdan.”

         “Indeed I was, in life.”

         “In life?” He studied the beautiful grey and silver mane of the massive dog like Gurdan.

         “Yes I am a passing image now.”

         “But why?”

         “You have wiped this place clean. We have only been saved by your records and your fading memory.”

         “But then what am I to do here?”

         “Same thing you did at the beginning,” he began off into a mist. “Create.”

 

         He shot upright, the night was rocked by a raging storm.

         “Just a dream.” He scanned the room letting his eyes fall on the self. He saw the boxes where he kept his work. Everything he created in a box.

         He dumped them over, spilling papers across the desk and began searching. His heart soared, the worlds, the characters, the stories and the craft of his work. He caught it, the spark of creation. He drew from it an energy, an ability that burned through his hear. He burnt across the pages of a blank notebook, pushing line after line.

         Until he read his words, how cold and dull they were. He felt it all slip away. He lost faith in his words. He fell into a deep slumber of depression.

 

         The white void shifted, a fantastical land of wonder had come to be. He stood in a lush clearing, surrounded by a thick forest. Souljin sat atop an outcropping of smooth slabs.

         “This can’t be the same place.”

         “Correct and wrong. This place is a part of the white void.”

         “So I’m dreaming all of this?”

         “What is a dream to some may be a reality to others.”

         “So this world is whatever I create?”

         “This world is what you make of it. Your reality is only a reality because you choose for it to be. Dreams are dreams because for them to be as such.”

         “A mid-ground, where my dreams are my reality?”

         “You could say as much.”

         He took the slab next to him, and became engulfed in the beauty of his creation. The wind slowly passed through. Birds of fantastic colors, beast of curious nature, trees and plants of all size, shape and color surrounding them.

         He spent weeks of his life, creating this world, watching it grew. Souljin would come and go, offering words of clarity from his past. The two were sitting alone on an out cropping over watching a small grove when it struck.

         “What’s that?” He looked over to the western skies.

         The sky was a raging black, the winds could be seen slashing across the grove, rain and hail pounded the earth into a slug.

         “Your mind.”

         “How?” He turned to see Souljin fading into transparency.

         “What’s happening?”

         “Your mind is destroying its self.”

         “What?”

         “How do you think everything was purged the first time?”

 

         It was days before he could calm himself enough to return. His mind had thrown its self into a deep depression. He could think of nothing but this vile filth that withered around his psyche. He could see it everywhere he went, in everything he did. It was until he stared down his reflection that realized what it was, himself.

         He awoken in the ruins of a landscape. Fire torched tress, the grass was replaced with smoldering ash, and the skies were burned a bloody red. At first he did not realize the place, he thought he was in a new world, a hell made for his daily distress. His heart became heavy in his chest as he dropped to his knees. He knew this place now, he knew where he stood. This world was the same as before. The storm had had its run and recked its havoc.

         He stood, watered eyed, and began to wonder. He roamed the land for miles, touching what few trees were cool enough and even burning himself a few times when he felt the burden was too heavy. He could think of nothing other than why.

         “Souljin! Are you still here?” He cast his gaze around the remains of the thick forest. “Souljin!” He yelled again with increasing despair.

         Silence was all that greeted him. Not even the wind would howl at him in his new found misery. He choose to walk on.

         For what seemed like days, he traveled across the barren landscape. From roasted forest to scorched grasslands, he trudged through ash and char. The smell of burning wood and dead animals filled his nostrils and burned his soul. His tears became a grey smeared mess across his face. His heart was being crushed under guilt and sorrow. He soon found an outcropping of smooth stone slabs. He collapsed upon them in a quit sober. He began to recall the pages of his work, the worlds that he had created, the characters and their fates. He began to mourn their lost, began to regret his destructive nature, and began to die.

         “Surely you would choose a better place to die.”

         “Souljin!” He struggled to push himself up on trembling arms. “Where have you been?”

         “Your mind.”

         “But this was all destroyed. Everything that I worked so hard to build. Everything that I created. It’s all gone.”

         “Is it? Your mind was purged once before. How do you think the White Void was created in the first place?”

         “But then what is this?” He scanned the destruction around them.

         “One could call it a transition, I would call it a cycle. Your mind is in chaos on a daily basis. You lose control and you destroy all that you create. You destroy everything and you are filled with great pain and sorrow.”

         “Then how do I stop it? How do I save my beautiful creation?”

         “Simple. Create an end to the storm.”