Satire with Extra Mashed Potatoes

The wind speaks to me and there are colors. Am I sleeping or am I dead? I am not blinded with sight. Eyes lie. I am not deafened by hearing. Ears lie. Truth surrounds me. I am truth. I feel nothing. Nothingness surrounds me. I am nothing. But nothing is not blank. Nothing is not dark. In nothing, there is something. Truth, pulsing throughout the universe, like life in a seemingly lifeless tree. In nothingness, there is swirling certainty. There are colors, pink, purple, yellow, and blue. They are not seen, they are not felt, they simply exist. My pocket of reality is contained in nothingness.

You are deceived. You think you know. You think you know everything. But how can you know when you have eyes to trick you, and ears to fool you?

I stand still and strong, stretching forever upwards towards the light and warmth, the freedom forever unobtainable, the overwhelming, the wonder of everything out there in this world. Reaching down into the dark and damp security of darkness and quietness, where nothing can seep into, hiding, burrowed and buried into myself again and again. Seeking to disappear into safety and quiet.

Time is just yet another illusion that the you buy into. Consciousness isn’t real. It’s a veil obscuring the nothing beyond it. Consciousness isn’t real, emotions aren’t real, beauty isn’t real. The only thing real is nothingness, and truth. Sometimes people say that the truth is harsh. It is not. It simply exists. It is like wood of a tree, hard and unresponsive. Still. Emotionless. It’s hard to believe it’s actually alive.

Instead you chase after the fluttering leaves in the wind, dancing on branches and letting bits of the blue sky through, waving like little flags with their rustling sound. The leaves seem alive. They move beautifully. They offer a promise of truth, hope, and salvation. Then the wind blows harder and the rain comes, and the leaves fall away to the ground, dying, paper-thin lies. The black trunk is all there is left. The hard wood is by no means a bad thing, or a good thing, or any sort of thing. It simply exists.

That is the thing about truth, is nobody understands. And the harder you try, the more obscured it becomes. You get lost in circles and paths that split off infinitely  and then loop back, drop you off into the void and lead you towards madness.

No, come, see me. See how I live. I am strong. I am timeless. I know the truth, which you will never know like I do. The truth is in nothing. Are you jealous? That I live in a world pure and free from confusing senses and feelings and thoughts? That I dwell in simplicity? That I know truth, and you don’t? That I live in nothingness? You wish you could understand, but you cannot. You will never understand. You are a human being suffering under your own ignorance. You can’t unsee things. You can’t unhear things. You can’t unthink things or unfeel things no matter how you try. You can’t get to the center of the universe, where I always was. I am better than you, and there is no denial. Are you jealous? Jealous? Jealous? Ha ha ha. Look at you and your confused little mind. All those swirling silly emotions. You will never understand. You will never know.

The rain talks to me. There is music. The earth whispers to me. The sun sings to me. I simply live. That’s all there is to it. And yet you can’t.

You will never understand. After all, you are a human, and I am a tree. We will never stand level. You will never see truth.