The Ballad of an Ephemeral World
There is no end because there is no beginning.
Before the womb there was the woman, and before the woman there was the womb.
I was born and I will die, but my spirit will haunt this earth.
And even now, I have this deep feeling that comes from—and goes way beyond—my comprehension. This feeling that whispers to me that I have seen all of this before.
When I look too long into the sun the brightness reminds my soul of a fire too ancient for my body to recall.
When the night stares deep into my eyes there is a part of me that feels as if I weren’t yet born. My heart aches for the womb where I once was—for the need to belong again to something greater than this body. Something that encompasses the whole of a soul.
I see the eternity that surrounds me even in the smallest of things.
In the petals that unfurl from the tip of my cigarette, melting away into the wind—only to return to my lungs again.
In the drops of rain that fall into the sea, and become part of it—they are for a moment inseparable—just until they evaporate into clouds and condense into rain once more.
Some say we are the dust of stars.
I think we are the dust of darkness. The darkness that was here before us and that will be here, forever.
There is no end to all this dark.
Even with the sun there are shadows, and there are places so deep and forgotten in this fragile world, that not even the sun can reach.
When this earth turns to ashes, the ashes will carry in eternal space the remains of what we are.
Dreams that fit in dust particles. Hopes forever lost in the force that will carry us to undeterminable infinities.
We will be everywhere, once again.
This world will cease to be what it was for this ephemeral moment in eternity—this place of mesmerising beauty and inconceivable violence—and return to the immortal nothingness to which it belongs.
The only memory eternity will have of us is the marrow of our souls. The essence in each of us that pushes us forward. The piece that lies forgotten forever in so many people’s souls, yet is undoubtedly there, even before we are born. The essence that inspired our ancestors to keep on living, evolving, exploring, creating- even if they didn’t know why.
And even though today we are so lost (because we are so darkly lost), there is- there has to be- at least a tiny little part in everyone’s soul that aches desperately for more.
The very more that our souls will conquer one distant day, when our bodies are long gone, and all that remains is just that—the marrow. The part of us that came before us and that will be there, somewhere or nowhere, perpetually in eternal space.