Before, I was surrounded by fog; my remembrances from this time, are to me, veiled in chaos and wading thoughts. And when I found myself awoken by life I wept, for the beaty, the malevolence, the tragedy; how could one bear life and not crumble I ask? Although I remember the days before, I had not found myself.
The answer to my question posited eludes me still, forever forming in my conscience. Thou can ask, how does one find oneself, with what mechanism does the dissipation of fog work? I looked within and found myself slick with oil and impurities; any form of truth seemed locked far away. How could I see past dense foggy mornings when truth still slept within? Yet the fog is now lighter and at times brilliantly translucent.
Amor fati, love thy fate. O’ how I wished I could; how I longed for the past so vehemently. How voraciously I ate from the sweet fruit of past experience. O’ how I wished I could travel back. O’ how I rejected fate. Leaden the fog hang over my eyes, that should see forward. My soul gripped by the past, could not behold the future.
It was at this time, with thoughts flowing like a raging river, I walked down from the mountain which I first, so abruptly, awoke. It would seem that I had forgotten how I came to be at this mountain, for the fog did lay heavy. However, while I treaded the path down, I walked past a man I could not remember witnessing. It was an oddity amongst men, a peculiar pattern of behavior seemed to plague his person, at least for the time that I so carefully observed. And behold, for the river in my mind was suddenly calm witnessing his labor!
Frozen I stood, and without my thinking I found myself thawing and approaching in warmth. From deep within a curiosity like I had not felt in years roared: no longer, by fear, bounded. The fetters broke and I spoke unto him:
“For some time, I have stood watching you, endlessly pushing this great stone. Tell me, you who neither rests nor tire, by what mechanism do you function? Now, I do not say this with rudeness in my hearth! O’ on the contrary, my curiosity which I long thought dead have risen again. What perplexes my mind in the most beautiful way is your never-ending labor. Why does thou not tire? For myself I know, yet you are a mystery. So, then I must ask, do I know myself? Alas, I might never know.
And now I have stood talking for some time as well and I still see that thou have not stopped for a moment. And even more so, is not thy labor pointless!?”.
My mind needed calm and I closed my mouth for the time being. Speaking should not be done lightly and I felt myself drifting into chaos. Yet the man did not seem inclined to answer either. He continued his task with great vigor! Up the hill, stone and man went, and just at the steepest part, the stones heaviness got unbearable.
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The man retuned down his trodden path; as he went back to pushing the stone up, he spoke:
"Have you not heard, young man? God got cut into multitudinous pieces, he was murdered with care and thought! His blood, that which is, flowed through the lands. And from him gods yet again rose! Modern gods! New gods and old gods! O’ I tell you; it was one of these gods that cursed me so!
It was so, for I have done what now is blasphemous; truth, so bitter, I have told unto others. And is it not the case that we find ourselves in times of untruth! O’ how the gods wage war against one another, how they butcher themselves just to be the God. For all gods carry their own truth, and to speak against that is to defy the heavens themselves. So, they cursed me with the ultimate eudaimonia, a truth in of itself. For the work will now forever not be done, and eternally my labor shall last.
And thou can ask me now, will I ever find happiness, in this cursed existence? The answer to this is not happiness, but it is contentment and fulfilment, for my labor now stands ready forever. Existence for me is not cursed, no. No! O’ the beaty, for look, on top of the hill the sunset, and sunrise, paints nature in the most magnificent and wonderful way. How can this be what one calls a curse? How can the gods curse, yet still grant me this beauty to behold? It seems I must concede, no curse has been laid upon me other than the one I myself choose. For see, no god, only me, is here to deliver judgment unto myself now.”
And I beheld his words, for now they were dear to me. And I looked at him as a new man, a working man, honest with his mind and hands. For his body was to my eyes stronger than mine, faster than mine, yet he did not wish harm upon me. And his labor I will call holy, for he does it honestly and for the betterment of himself and the future. His punishment, he himself owns and controls. Although he is alone in his peculiar labor, he stands for me as an example, has he not accepted the labor given and made his situation fulfilling in mind and body?
I spoke unto him again:
“Alas, your suffering is only yours to master, and mastering it you are. For that you have earned my admiration. For that, I will carry your light with me, and so I will see that I, myself, find the labor that calls upon me! For what is man without honest labor? No man at all! And so, you have turned curse to blessing and found your will! Now I will go! And before I do so, I too will give you some of me; my name which is my truth, I present as Haimo!”
And so Haimo spoke with the laboring man, and he felt himself ready, ready to find his path and labor. With the parting words Haimo left the man to his devices, for the long winding path ahead was dark, and terrors would be waiting.
Dusk arrived promptly with the passing of time, and Haimo found himself sleeping in a nearby cave, what now awaits tomorrow? What now awaits after he had seen the first lifting of fogs, and experienced a truth?