Jan 24, 2023
3 mins read
Every day is a day of judgement in the world of the scribe. Pens and journals reveal the truth and there is nowhere to run nor hide. Here, one is only brought closer to oneself; closer to the truth that hurts but frees. “Maybe that’s why nobody is free because the truth hurts” he scribbles down “and pain is what we are afraid of.” The pen glides across the paper, illuminating the shadows; excavating undiscovered territory as endless as the desert and as forever as the cosmos. All that can be heard is his breath and the rhythmic sound of a scratching pen caressing the blank page
He is a surfer who rides on a board at the shores of the coast, feeling the push and the pull of waves that carry him between worlds. He is an explorer of sovereign lands and the sorrowful caves that lead to those moments of utter peace that are too soon forgotten. Here he investigates the center of everything. Fears, contradictions, desires, the world. His emotions unravel slowly like a budding flower. Then avalanche abruptly; the thundering snow stealing him. Carrying him. Then burrowing him deep beneath the white grave. All that remains are the humming winds that blow powder through the white plains.
Everything is fluid. The time goes on as he watches the seconds sequence themselves into minutes and then hours and then days and then weeks and then months and then years and into generations that unfold into many moments that last forever. When he stares through the space in front of him, allowing himself to be, time is endless. Life is beautiful. And every action is a seed.
‘This must be eternity,’ he thinks quietly to himself. The wind blows and the tree bends as if nodding yes. Distant cars roar as they pass by. Driven not by people, but by a society that is breaking down before his eyes. Trends wax and wane like the moon. The full light descends into a clipped fingernail hanging in the sky until, finally, Luna is as dark and black as the space she occupies. By tomorrow these trends will be forgotten like the dead.
He is trapped by the flickering screen. The news haunts him, and tomorrow, there will be a new threat for him to fear. His peace is, again, short lived because now he scrolls through endless cycles of stimulation drowning in the voices of the world that have not learned how to be still and know.
This Earth is a sojourn. A temporary stay inside a hostel. In One blink of eternity’s eye he came into this world as a screaming child afraid of what awaited him in this world. Eternity blinks again and he is now lying upon his back. His bones are stiff and his lungs are reaching out for life. He sobs, afraid of what awaits him on the other side. He looks back at his life from end to beginning and again from beginning to end. He lies beneath the snow; body numb and reflects on his last breath and remembers the identities that he has forgotten. Scanning through his memories. He asks, “where has time gone?’
Napkin thoughts are quick pondering’s scribbled down onto napkins whenever the urge has summoned me to quickly capture a thought or an idea. Some are not completely formed nor complete. These are musings rather than ‘truths’ and though we aim to inspire the minds of the world to think freely and for individuals to think for themselves to decide what is true for them, Rosemary’s Heart is merely a community for ideas to coexist. Where one can come and widen one’s horizons and explore philosophies. They are hardly edited and we like to think of them of inspirational freestyles.