Second Meditation
The hermit notes the raindrops that swell in the abstract bodies of anguish-ridden clouds before falling like ripe apples from a branch that can no longer hold its weight. It is winter now; the limbs of stoic trees are sharp and rustle against each other as if they were jousting. He finds a flat rock amid the malaise of great trunks, and wood clacks against one another, animals remain hidden with only the scraping of dead leaves to give away their positions. His hands lie flat against his weathered knees, and soon all the haunting beauty of a baron forest is flooded in darkness. The hermit takes steady breaths, realising early in the meditation that his identity is merely a label. He does not exist as a hermit, as an identity, he is the void and everything that fills it before fading. His feet meld into the entirety of existence, there is nothing that truly separates spaces, for all is filled with particles. The great cosmic soup, with its illusions of individuality, for there is only a universe unfurling itself and the dances we perform as it does so. I am no more than a blind brain in a dark skull hallucinating an external reality, he thinks. For all is a mass hallucination, the external reality he resides in is covered in damning smoke and mirrors, spaces, beings, and nothingness that melds into everything. This is the nature of existence today, a guessing game of made-up words labelling physical objects that are only physical in our dimensional perception. The great sapiens, with its pride and ego, thinking sentience can only exist on its level, creating the word intelligence to pat itself on the back for its fleeting self-awareness. To know nothing is to realise everything, the hermit ponders before reaching a Socratic conclusion. To run I must have walked, to walk I must have first crawled, and to die I must have lived, and to live I must have died. The hermit opens his eyes, there is a small squirrel sitting beside his leg, he gently presses his thumb against its head and leaves, for the meditation is over.
If you enjoyed this short story feel free to check out my recent book ‘Void Around Sunlight’
AMKent books 
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