Skip to main content

Thy name is Ego

Thy name is Ego, the master of my being. With your art of self, you have the power to lead me into the intricate world of diverse selves and unique bodies. Oh, how your alluring voice beckons me, tempting me with promises of glory and recognition. You entice me to climb the treacherous mountain of success, to stand atop its peak and bask in the admiration of others.

But in your pursuit, I often lose sight of what truly matters. The warmth of genuine connections, the beauty of simple moments, the joy of being alive. You blind me with your insatiable thirst for validation, causing me to neglect the things that make life worth living.

Oh, Ego, how you mesmerize me with your persuasive words and seductive charms. But I must remember to resist your spell, to stay true to myself and my values. For only then can I find peace and happiness within, free from the chains of your all-consuming influence. Lead me not into the world of mere appearances and hollow accomplishments, but guide me towards a life of authenticity and fulfillment.





Comments

Popular posts from this blog

Dead and Buried

We all leave something behind—not by accident, but for a reason we don’t fully understand. As though some cosmic law silently demands it of us. And we obey, unknowingly, yet unfailingly. We, fragile creatures, live not just to exist, but to leave traces of that existence—marks etched in time, invisible perhaps, but undeniably real. We come into this world incomplete, having left a piece of ourselves elsewhere. When we first take the shape of a foetus in the womb, something essential is set aside. And when we die, we don’t simply vanish; we begin a journey back—to retrieve what was once ours, what we unknowingly surrendered. But even in that act of return, we leave more behind. Our lives are full of quiet departures. A moment. A glance. A word. Our love lingers. Our memories settle into the corners of rooms. Our shadows remain stretched across places we’ve passed through. Our presence clings to people in subtle, haunting ways. Sometimes we leave behind dreams never fulfilled, words nev...

Wake me up...

Wake me up when December bells. until then, let me sleep in thy... 

Unknowing

I choose the heart of darkness — not in despair, but in reverence — to immerse myself in its monstrous chaos, the womb from which all beginnings bleed into existence. I do not flee the shadows; I invite them. I slow the light, restrain it, keep it from intruding too close—because some truths are born only where light hesitates.  I sense what is coming. The slow unravelling of the world. A moment when day and night lose their boundaries and collapse into a single breath. When direction dissolves and humanity forgets where it stands. Time loosens its grip. Space forgets its shape.  In that hour, man will begin to speak languages he has never learned, utter sounds older than memory itself. He will see beyond the limits of his eyes, hear frequencies never meant for human ears. Perception will stretch, fracture, expand—until meaning itself trembles.  And in that unsettling clarity, where fear and wonder merge, the truth will no longer hide. It will rise—not in light, but in t...