Old Games Of Chess © Surazeus 2024 08 17 I am a lost soul in world of lost souls, bumbling about as I play different roles, stuck in dramas my ancestors once lived as they rejoiced in love, and in loss grieved, till lovers embraced with passionate hope to create new body that learns to cope. I am nameless ghost in valley of masks, stuck in daily routine of endless tasks producing and preparing food to eat as I trudge about on aggressive feet in vain attempt to evade hand of death who looms over me with each gasping breath. Each ancestor still alive in my brain, who survived millions of years to attain my current state of efficient performance, asserts requirements of their importance to operate chemical machine of me as I rein social constraints to live free. As new entity now alive this hour, separate from them, I assert my own power of conscious will to operate my body in quest to transcend fate, and gain samadhi through choices I express to play myself in lost tale unread in book on the shelf. Each ancestor, whose memories compose vision of life that my dreaming brain knows, developed new ways of acting to find nutritious food as Person they designed, which provides templates for me to adapt as I explore this world their actions mapped. When I find myself in dramatic scenes to interact with strangers behind screens, my brain trips scripts my ancestors composed to guide how I relate in role imposed by force of hope to realize their success, trapped by traditions in old games of chess. I play my role according to old rules when I employ efficient mental tools, but other people, stuck in their own games, perform contrary from their own dream frames, so our souls clash against heavenly bliss, misunderstanding clear signals we miss. We are all lost souls in world of lost souls, stuck in global tragedy without roles prewritten to guide how we should live well in Heaven fractured by nationalist Hell, so fearful tyrants proclaim themselves kings who fight to rule with magical thought rings.
Surazeus Astarius Συράζευς Αστάριος. Cartographer. Epic Poet. Hermead epic poem about Philosophers 126,680 lines of blank verse. http://tinyurl.com/AstarianScriptures
Orpheus forges magical thought rings and gives one to each person who bumbles into Theater of the Absurd.
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