Boiling Truth

[MysticalWeasel 910]

Spoiler

Self retelling of RP, cannot be meta gamed

Spoiler

 

Last Sought Truth

 

Wandering, for he did not yet know where to bring himself. Till it struck him, like a sun ramming into one’s eye, he would return to his place of truth, where hot springs reflect his true nature. A sunken path, mesmerized by geyser springs and hot steam. Where the heat would erode him away once more, to shed that skin he had grown so attached to.

Finding a large enough rock to sit, Sebastian took some comfort. Setting his food and drink out of reach of his one arm, he felt a quiet hope. Mentally fortified himself for the coming journey. Sitting upon the large rock, Sebastian studied. To find something to garner his focus. There, there, it was a plant. In this hot, steamy land that sought to erode him, a flower thrived. Envy boiled in his gut and filled him with the drive. If such a flower, such a resilient bloom, survives in this landscape, so shall he.

Had it been a day or a week? He had lost track of time. Skin blistered, and lips cracked under the constant heat. Beyond all, a question he sought to answer. More valuable than shade, more valuable than a drop of water. What is perfection? What is self? Endlessly, he stared at that flower, not a single detail lost upon him. Unlike the question, this flower had nothing left to pique his attention. Still, though, he allowed himself to cook slowly. The excruciating heat seemed to burn his very psyche away. The remaining question is the only thing remaining in his head.

Time continued to burn on, as day turned to night. The cold was not as embracing as I thought. Shivers shot down his spine as boils and cracked skin were raw to the feeling. The pain persisted, a reminder of his resilience amid suffering. His skewed mind thought of perfection. How could someone who has never known perfection think about it? The question shifted just as the sun rose once more. A new dawn had risen, another day of agonizing heat.

Finally, after several days, it dawned upon them. Just as the sun rose, he moved. Sore and blistered, barely conscious, he moved. A hand rose, their only hand. It raised its arm to the sky, its hand cupping the very sun. The perspective was flawed. To him, he had clasped the sun, but in truth, a mere misguided perception. He, himself, was flawed. Anything he could conjure would be just as flawed. 

 

At last he had sought the truth needed. Fractured mortal understandings of perfection would only be that, fractured. He could be staring at perfection and think of lesser forms of it for he himself could never truly know it. With that small semblance of truth, barely being able to walk away from such understandings. He left that boiling land, the final pieces of his old self now boiled away.

[frvma 1014]

Ylirim sat in a cave staring at it's innermost wall. His eyelids cut off by his own hand. Silence predicated the simple Truth of Being.

 

"As the Child I am the Son of Man.

As the Mother, clothed in the Sun I am.

Sanctuary for the weary Soul,

The Life giving Word that no one knows."

 

A simple lie, one that spans a web of innumerable threads gathered itself in the minds of all who walked in his trail.

 

"Once there was a Sun."