The Prince (or call it the primary ape, or just x or perhaps give the gentleman his due in dignity and agree to call him The Prince) was riddled by the recurrence of the trinity.
The Prince, (born as Brahma, swayambhu, sui generis, pure, essential) wakes up face to face, nose touching nose, eyelash brushing eyelash with the great stabilizer, Vishnu. It is through Vishnu that The Prince realizes he is Brahma. It is also through Vishnu that The Prince realizes he can never continue to be Brahma. He runs out, seeking Maheshwara, the destroyer, but with a great dilemma. Who will he destroy? Brahma, his essence? Vishnu, his projection? How can he be one without the other?
The Prince runs out of his chamber to the outside. He then leaves his earthly body and swims into the ether. And he is lost.
They say that the riddle of three got him.
They say that the riddle of three got him.
The night started with a surprise. My dear friend, and dear is merely an understatement, made me lick my stamp and posted me off to nowhere, or everywhere. The “all” becomes the “none” in a strange funny way when one uses words to express it. Saying “none” is exceeding its essence of the null. Saying “all” is limiting its essence of the infinite. Both are rendered equally impotent expressions of the respective concepts. The riddle of three got me again. Anyway, moving on, it so happened very unfortunately that my dear friend had to depart with his lover to their secret abode across town. I was left in the company of two individuals (one immensely better than the other; evolution had always baffled me with its complete randomness of mate selection when it comes to humans) who would be acknowledged as equivalents to erratic thoughts in the midst of immense concentration. I would love to say more about the slightly indulgent of the erratic thoughts but maybe some other day. So, I built barriers in my mind, created my bubble. Did not work. I knew I had to have the climax outside, where I can be inside and outside and all across the ether with me and only me to pilot my airship off into oblivion, or clarity (the riddle of three, the failure of duality, hee hee hee). And that’s when at the peak of my climax that I realized that I could be nothing else other than me in the truest most essential form. And then came the great downer. This was a circular and redundant realization. I did not need this clarity. I asked my question very specifically. I will always be me in my most essential form to me. And I will never be my essential form outside, or to outsiders. I may be Miles hitting those impossible notes while listening to a car honking away. I may be Shahenshah strolling on the golden beaches of Jordan and carefully sidestepping dogpoop and discarded condoms. I may be Alexander, smiling benignly, on the verge of showing mercy to his rival who stares back with suspicion and conditioned fright and indignation, snuggling closer to her mother. That which I inherently am I cannot discard. That which has shaped this soft clay into a mould I cannot discard. I cannot be one without the other. And I cannot be either due to the presence of the other. The riddle of three got me again.
The Prince in his ethereal self had an epiphany. He swooped and fell down to Earth, crashed back into his consciousness with a smile. He had found Maheshwara, the destroyer. The riddle was solved with another riddle. Maheshwara had to destroy both of them and thus he would create the third, the Holy Compromise.
I was walking the streets, following the beautiful sunrise (or it following me, duality will be the death of me) and thinking of you, more specifically thinking of ways to overcome this bondage to you which I seem to have developed. And I let myself go into this immense climax just to prove that I am one and whole without you. At the same time the entire exercise also proved your absolute mastery over me. I could not have realized my essential self without you. But then it is you who constructs me in patches from here and there and sometimes from thin air, like juggling with translucent scarves and plucking and re-arranging the system in mid air at exactly the same time as it is being constructed. Or maybe it is the exact opposite in progress, maybe I am constructing you, plucking out patches from thin air. And at this point the simplicity of it struck me. The riddle of three was no more an enigma. I am everywhere, or maybe you are everywhere around me, one couldn’t be sure if it weren’t the same thing in a way. I am both in my essential form and my projected form, a symbiosis. It is you my friend, author, painter, reader who gives me form, gives me the power to manifest myself. It is you who destroys both my essential and my projected forms and helps me manifest into reality. Without you I would be an idea, or merely a concept, an imagination floating in ether.
I am how you paint me as.