In this world, I am alone. Each day that I rise, I am greeted by unending chaos. Into this abyss my spirit ventures cautiously, as if my cautious stepping may influence the weight of my step. (It cannot)
I’m repeatedly faced with unending decisions. As my spirit recognizes patterns, I rely on memory to choose the optimal input. This foolishness enslaves me, forces me to believe that my actions are a vehicle which can be steered towards a destination.
Instinctively, I prioritize my longevity; my ability to make decisions gets protected at all costs. In this, there is no freedom. I am either a pawn in God’s great chess match or a cancerous cell fighting to reproduce myself.
Imbibed in the chaos, there is this thing. This current moment, a blade with infinite sharpness. “I” have no counter for the abyss of chaos, though “I” can wield this infinitely sharp blade to cut into it.
Wielding the power of such a blade can only be done with undivided attention, for the second I remove my focus from it, the blade forbids me from possessing it. What is life but not a continuous battle between our consciousness and the abyss of the unknown?
On this day, people have a tradition of fooling each other. On this and every other day, people have a tradition of fooling themselves.
Dylan Sunderland 
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