Eclipses -- First Contact
A five-part series on dual natures.
Halos in fire Eyes through vantablack Eternal moments, Infinite revolutions, A sacred rhythm Hallowed by time
All my life, I’ve felt myself to be a walking contradiction.
To have been born dually, from two natures—two existences. Equally significant, equally contributive, equally opposed. Just as polarized, just as hostile. But yet still in harmony with one another. In a state of permanent, offsetting equilibrium—much less through the very struggle within me, pleading, aching of myself to be not.
I’ve made a lot of compromises throughout the years to dim certain parts of myself to embolden, or perhaps replace, the other. And it’s worked so far—it has indeed done what it was intended to do.
Always intended.
It has indeed helped me present to a society that I am doing, that I am performing, the necessary, gradual steps all people—all little flesh-laden atoms comprising the celestial histology of the universe—must undergo according to the short tapestry of its collective, and specifically collected, memory.
To, in a far greater degree of graduality, among a much more complex and systematized apparatus of meticulous little optimized sects of complementary processes all branching and feeding off one another (like a web of winding straits that are only as important as the substance they were designed to carry across landmasses that are much too comfortable to depart from), integrate within myself a world I have been told that I am a part of.
That I have been told has been entirely justified to nurse me since birth with such tales of such a rich, immense, deeply interwoven, deeply implicating folklore of pure cause and effect. One solitary thought, into one solitary action. That then begets more solitary thoughts. Into more solitary actions.
But the older I get (the plague that is), the more aware I become (the sickness that has entrenched all of us), the greater implicated I am in the greatest crime that none of these systems of mythologies ever so much as remotely conceptualized.
My refusal to be.
All of me—
All that is me.
And all that is.
In perpetual, harrowing alienation from each other.
Made to believe that they are not me.
That they are not, ever.
And never would be.
In spite of the fact that the sole, rudimentary, purpose of each their being—the very nature of it, as evidenced by their fundamental links to each other, forever tethered by the eternal, internal dialogue that manifested themselves as the core, opposing forces they now suppose themselves to be—is to be with one another.
For no other purpose than to be, just as. Simply to be.
Precisely in where they should not.
For how rare they are, and how starkly different they make the surface of the Earth to appear—both, at least, from my perspective—it truly is strangely comforting to know how natural eclipses are. And how much the structure of the universe is owed to such a phenomenon.