Cliff’s edge of Life

I feel as though I am hanging on the cliff edge of life itself, I look around and see a world so baron, alien in form where hostility abounds, a place I do not recognise. Before me and below the waves of times great ocean crash and fall, great fields of foam smash and bash upon the sharpened edge of torn and broken rocks.

Anger hisses up from with in the waves, echos bounce off the rocks of long forgotten dreams where pale memories linger in a time that once was, lost in there own private world. I hang on here looking down upon the crashing waves that call my name, watching the age old battle of earth and great Neptune’s ocean, the rock face is hard and hostile to the water, the water vile and nasty to the rock relentless in there battle, each chewing and goring the other, It would be so easy now to slip off this edge and let myself fall to the waters face below, to slip and break upon the rocks and free myself from this.

All around me life is hostile, the wind is bitter with its chill, the rain relentless with is drum beat tapping out the seconds of my life, yet still I hang on, trying to work it out, there must have been a reason but I have long since forgotten it, and seem not to care.

I have lost my map, my key to all, I wander pointlessly around searching for something I long since forgot. I don’t understand myself, so how can I understand the world? I don’t know the meaning the purpose of it all, I am always looking for the deeper meaning with in a world of image, not of self.

I am lost in this battle between image and self, somehow I have got confused when I look below from the cliff face to the reflection in the waters beneath I see a stranger staring back at me,  I don’t know who I see.

I wander in the street around a million people and have never felt so alone so out of place, its like I am here only not, the colour has drained from this world in which we live, the meaning gone. I see the quest for treasure around me, people digging scurrying ant like in there nature, to hold on to something but what they see as gold is in reality just junk, pointless things that mean nothing more that a random speck of dust, but they are happy with this, happy in there quest, happy to pile junk upon junk to build a world, these things are important to them, they are happy in the task. They push day in day out a rock up a hill, at the top it rests then falls down the other side, the process begins again. The rock is hostile to the hill and mover, the hill and mover to the rock, yet each has there part to play, and play it well, content in what they do, its not so much the difficulty of the doing but the difficulty for the doer that is of interest here. Yet for me it seems pointless, I can not find happiness in this pointless task, it will not fit with in me.

I play my part well, I push my rock up the hill go through the motions, but somehow I cant find what I am looking for, though I have actually forgotten what I am looking for. Sometimes I am a little envious when I see the people happy with there role, pushing rock up hill, if only I to could be content and not searching for the pot of gold at the end of life’s imaginary rainbow.

I am on this cliff edge to life, I know not what to do, the waves below battle strong and hard the wind and rain above push just as hard, it would be so easy now to jump from here, slip with in the oceans call and float away to sleep eternal sleep.




~ by Duma Key on July 2, 2008.

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