Shaman Exit by Araw Sun
As oceans curl their tides,
And leaves fall to the ground
So as my time, slowly ticked and withered away.
A human asleep.
A god asleep.
A power asleep.
Irony has its mysterious ways of landing in my palm,
It handed me such a rude awakening,
That in my slumber, I fell into the clutches of sweet sleep once more.
With this irony I will deal with it cryptically
as I do, oftenly.
A human asleep.
A soul asleep.
A shaman in a split.
In my simplest of ways, and simplest of understanding,
irony is a gift wrapped in the coldest of presentation,
wrapped in the most known clichés of “It’s *** you, it’s **” of sorts
wrapped in the most human way possible, it borders to something unbecoming,
something worth comprehending
In this shallow comprehension, it seemed that things were underestimated and overestimated.
Nothing in moderate. Nothing I can wrestle with the term they call as freedom.
And as irony has probably shaped a whimsical world, it is also in irony that I sought solace
For having something is actually having nothing at all.
A human asleep. (trying to awake)
A god asleep. (trying to awake)
A power asleep. (trying to awake)
An ally tapped me amidst all my unawareness,
Amidst all the enjoyable night,
It came with a numbing and fearing sensation.
It was a painful and shivering message that immediately I knew that something was coming.
Something was happening.
Something was crumbling.
Something was wrong.
Something ironically clamors to be freed.
This may be only a story and a story of irony, nonetheless.
A tale of how irony, something, nothing and freedom are intertwined.
A human asleep. (waking up)
A soul asleep. (waking up)
A shaman in a split.
An empty cookie box. An empty water bottle. An empty alcohol. An empty straw hat.
All of which are ironically something that is nothing.
Amidst all the memories,
Amidst all the feeling
Amidst all seemingly free
indeed, it was nothing.
And as something created irony that has probably shaped a whimsical world,
created an ironical tangent without limitations and no boundaries (so it seemed)
it birthed the most ironic concept of all:
in nothingness there existed freedom.
for my beloved curandera