Metamania

The third eye sometimes rips apart oneself, and with a life and mind of its own, it peers deep inside us and gags at the things it sees. The human mind is a poor fragile thing, prone to forces of irrationality and basic rules of a species driven to satisfy few simple instincts, and it is no wonder that the eye found it funny. The eye is merely a cynic, whose sense of humor is founded on elements of irrationality, which are only too abundant. The eye did not relate to basic human drives and was devoid of empathy towards the species as such. When it sensed behavior that was inexplicable and insensible in the 'cosmic' perspective, the eye smiled, like it were an all-knowing omniscient Godly being, looking down upon and pitying the fallacy of what the mediocre human was.

I am a cynic, and at times one of a kind that I cannot tolerate myself, and I wish that some fortunate day, I'd manage to happily escape the sight of the eye into the dark world of my own private irrational self, just as it was ripping apart myself into the infinite distance to perform its Godly cynical feat. Sometimes, I sit in this group of human things, and my messed up brains watch my eye as it rips off myself and begins to gag at all of them, and at me. Succumbing to the shame of a watchful God's wrathful laughter, the eye at times, makes me feel as if all of humans were one confused adolescent blob of a childish thing, flawed and incapable of rational behavior. I strive hard, to sit before my associate human things and just be another irrational human thing, empathizing with all the pride over a supposed demonstration of wisdom, the merriment over mediocre elements of existence, unabashed statements on devotion of one's lifetime to materialistic goals, the silly hope for a meaning and all the joy of a living,.., and just be friends with my friends, a colleague with my colleagues, and kin with kin, to just be a simple man,.., and under the watchful eye, I try to stealthily sneak in simple unashamed conversations about my last cup of tea, the new movie in town, gossips on failed relationships, plans for career growth and sarcastic remarks on the silliness of few folks around, and just there, I terribly fail as the Lord's wrathful eye watched my words and deeds and burnt my soul with the sharp blade of a ruthless smile.

I wished I weren't the cynic that I was. The brain was conscious of the eye's watchfulness and the eye was watchful of the brain's cautiousness, and in one endless loop of a meta-thought cycle, I was forever stuck in a limbo unable to empathize with myself and the souls around me, and I sit there disconnected from the simple group of nice little innocent human beings letting out their emotions and opinions and only trying to pass by another day of their meagre lives, and I sit there quietened and humbled and I felt like a lifeless body carrying this weird force of a life that I did not understand. My associates weren't any of the great Gods, and they all suffered from pride, the forces of love and hunger and the simple and unfounded fear of an uncertain future, and who was I to let my eye wander aimlessly at great heights with all the world's apathy and to let it weigh those around me on the inconsiderate scales of universal perfection, pass judgements on meek deeds and nonchalantly laugh at all the pitiable existence that is? Why was the brain stuck in an endlessly recursive meta-cycle of a painful process of self-revelation and the enlightenment of a meaningless existence? How I wished I weren't the cynic that I was? Someday, I hope I would learn to ignore the eye too, and hold on to the only life that I have and escape into the darkness of a simple unassumed irrational living, and to not regret feeling all the irrational forces that I felt, however menial and meek they might be, for the suffering and the joy were real, and when I suffered pain, I burnt in hell, and when I felt joy, I rejoiced in heaven, or whatever thing on earth, that could come to mean, and it does not matter that these elements of joy and pain were marked as 'irrational' on an unforgiving God's big book of cosmic behavior. I wish now that my third eye were blinded, or that my conscious mind comfortably turned its back towards the apathic eye, which are both the same thing really.