Pursuit Of A Perfect Soul

A short tale of a man in search for a perfect soul.

I grabbed my pouch, but I had nothing much to carry. I had a long way to go, to an undetermined bourne. I walked into the woods while my soul lacked ambition; contemplation to nature was my sole intention. But, not far away from my path and my sight, I witnessed those mystical trees, imperative and might. Firm they stood in a row, inexorable appearance; vigorous defence they held, masquerading senescence. I was certain for it was a preternatural portal. My heart's anticipation grew, for was it apt for a mortal?

Shrivelled leaves held colour of fine brass; ingratiating welcome mat of golden grass. It silently spoke of my expected coming. I walked in with caution, the tree's sang, with winds they were humming. As I advanced further, I walked seven yards. Behold, I heard an overpowering whoosh; slapping of wings of great raven guards. Taller than me, they stood as innocuous genial hosts. My consciousness tumbled for were they of nature, or amorphous ghosts? Inconceivable it was, anon, a boulder swelled up from beneath. Its enervating nimbus, my body quivered, I was barely on my feet. 

With my shivering hands, I stretched to reach out the stone. The portal opened, into a deep trance I was thrown. A stream of cold breeze woke me up in a mysterious land. Verily, forsaken I was, with a silver scroll in my hand. “What good art thou to me, oh silver scroll? Thou art as strange as this land itself.” The scroll torqued out my hand, hovered above in utter brilliance; “what seeketh thee?” For weakened I was and frightened for sure, “deliver me back, to the place I was before” Enraged it was, it spoke words thus: “How deceiving thy tongue, how bogus thy tears. Am I the phantom that haunts thy fears?” Insecure I felt, how exposed I was; what possibly could I hide, so revealed was my cause. Never I refrained, my protrusive nature to deceive; yet, my wicked heart whispered, “What penalty could you receive?” “Nay, oh great one, my tears truly are of my sorrow; my soul is vexed, if I endure tonight, what land I might be at tomorrow?” 

Its wisdom unequalled, its judgement, an unshakeable rock; to it nothing concealed, it pierced my soul with the eyes that of hawk. “Thy wisdom scarcely fill thy small earthen bowl; dost thou not seekest the knowledge of the perfect soul?” I was filled with awe at the transcendent knowing; seeds of enlightenment, had it more, left for sowing? “I surrender to thee oh great one, how pure thou art; I cometh in pursuit of the perfect soul, the one of clean heart.”

Compassion it held, thus it spake in ruth: “How heavy thy heart, yet thy must bear the truth; there exists no perfect soul, truth verily, is bare and brute. Thy shalt not seek any further, the one, not born; take this knowing with delight, for this consummates thy bourne.” How could I return without knowing what's beyond; I was athirst to drink of that pond. “Great one, thy knowest, my hunger and thirst; enlighten my ignorant soul, for this is my curse.” It hence found worthy, my weak meek soul; it unravelled its wisdom and rendered me whole. And, before it vanished into the space between the space; it uttered the words thus, locked in its case:

“Flaws only filleth the eyes of the bearer; works of the great sculptor, never known of error. Amiss thy perception, eyes blinded with avarice; thy endless endeavour to satiate deeds amorous. Thou art forged, and so are all, in a perfect mould; shaped with mud, yet, thou are bestowed with a heart of gold. Rend the sheets of greed, uproot the weeds of dubiety; then shall thy see clearly, attain congruity. Evil be upon them who entitle man - an imperfect mortal; blasphemous tongue, they neither know of the sculptor's perfection, nor of this portal. Lo, I say unto thee, if thou shalt seek, in nature or cosmos, the perfect is none; if thou seeketh in thine own soul, thou art the perfect one.”