Picture fog…
Grey, shifting, swirling.
A cloak of nebulous silver,
Between your eyes and the world.
All sounds are slightly dulled, gagged.
All you can feel is indistinct cold, damp.
Out here, in this dancing, smoke-colored dream…
Out here, beyond the very edge of longing,
Without a vision, without a sign, lost,
Blind, and muted, and searching,
Seeking, maybe, for meaning?
Blundering in the grey dark…
What is it? Where is it?
Why in fog?
Why dance with wraiths?
They jig-a-jig with your dreams,
In the foggy shadows of your mind…
The foggy shadows that you built yourself,
Shadows that are as firm as concrete prison walls,
Walls that stand between what you accept, and what you ignore,
Your only protection from the grim realities you cannot face…
No Gods, no visions, no signs… no shelter, no point, no fate,
No fairness… and no-one will care in a hundred years.
This is truth, this is reality, this is your universe.
But can you cast away the clouds?
Can you face truth?
Open your heart,
And you may find meaning.
But you must have the courage,
Courage to dispel the fog and the cloud,
To pierce that pink fluffy cotton wool with needles,
To stab those signs and visions, those images born from fear,
Stab them with your sword of clarity, fearing not the infinite void,
Stab them and chase them away and face the face of nothing,
Face it without fear, without your false swaddling clothes,
And learn to love that frightening visage, love it dear,
Love life, love every ugly wrinkle, love the void,
Open your heart and accept every detail...
And then you will recognize meaning.