Whispers

Week 22

It was an incredibly soft landing this time, on an extremely precarious ledge. The ledge was an acute triangle with a dagger of a ledge leading to absolutely NoWhere. Once my ass landed awkwardly a moment after me, it had started to nay and grunt in ways that I wasn’t accustomed to. As I looked over its way to see what was wrong, I noticed there were twelve spirts with extremely disconcerting facial expressions whispering into it’s ear. I watched dumbfounded and disturbed for a moment, and then knew exactly what needed to be done.

I was going to need to listen to these whispers as well. “Fuck,” I said. These hunched and demon like spirits were so gleeful in their tragic spells that it had immediately put the beast to sleep. I was grateful that the animal didn’t have a Human mind, and didn’t need to reconcile with the implications of these whispers; but at the same time was annoyed that I was going to need to endure another test so soon after my last one. I did a few jumping jacks, gave my hamstrings a good tug, rolled my neck and shoulders out, took thirty extremely slow and deep breaths, and sat in my meditative floor posture. My sword of Truth pulsed an extremely soft neon yellow. “Bring it on you slugs.”

As soon as I closed my eyes, I felt the severity of the silence. I was amid a deep free fall of self and this was an inevitable check in to monitor my progress. I knew all of this had to be done. This knowledge and understanding didn’t make me any less sick and nauseous to have to endure the whispers of the lowlands. First, I could hear, faintly, the slugs laughing amongst themselves at my expense in the not so far distance. They were laughing at my physical body, my intimate parts, what they thought of me just by looking at me. They were laughing at my past misfortunes and misgivings. All of it. Laughing at me. They had all of the details. My heart rate was fucking THRUSTING. I WANTED TO SPEAK! I was sweating and so remarkably angry that I wanted to stand up and start yelling and beat those motherfuckers to death, though I knew that if I started thrashing, I would fall off of the ledge prematurely and miss out on REMARKABLE growth. “Take the beating with grace. Enjoy it.” I repeated to my Self over and over and over and over and over again.

Then the whispers arrived directly in my ears. I could smell their stench of fire and soot and could feel their grimy oily whiskers brush up against my ears. They whispered of war in the world, climate ruin, and political strife. They whispered of a “future” and a “past.” They whispered of “success” and “fame” and “achievement.” They whispered of “recognition” and “financial fulfillment.” They whispered of “the government” and of “culture” and “education.” I listened. If I could say one thing TRULY about how I maintained composure during the whispers, I will say that I TRULY listened. I heard each one of the demons’ perspectives and made sure to hear them all out to the end. The whispers were so personal yet so far removed. I needed to keep reminding my Self that I was ONE with the totality of all things. Chaos and Death were welcome in my home. I needed them. I need that which most people are afraid of at my disposal to create REVOLUTIONARY ART! My soul began to laugh, and that was when I knew that I was Home.

I listened to the end like we listen for the final kernels of popcorn to pop. As soon as there was silence, I sprung up onto my feet and said:

LIES, YOU THIEVES. CEASE! I AM THE LAST PHILOSOPHER!

This woke my Ass up with such urgency that the awkwardness of its rise snapped the rock and

we

all

fell

down.