Sunday, October 16, 2011

Trapped Under Steel / The Castle

 

The feverish trappings of mortar and brick, all spewed out from the concrete mixer onto the side of the road. The night wears on and the construction crew starts to unload. Everything has been working like clockwork, and the ‘castle’ must be build before then end of dusk. The owner is a merciless tyrant; waiting for one to collapse and fall onto the pavement. He revels in the agony of his workmen, every breadth cursed out, every dew drop of sweat and sweat makes him chuckle in some sort of victory. That his ‘castle’ has been built from pain, that its worth the lives of many, that it is the grandest detail of life in entire history of existence. How wrong would he be?

The moon beckons everyone for a smoke and rest. But the churning and noise evaporates all such desires, The concrete mixers now belch out smoke and dust, the boiler close by chuckles out soot and fumes. The entire field around the site is alive with some sort of anxiety. More and more trucks are making their way to the desolate site. Where some sort of monstrosity is being constructed from bare hands of those way too tired to live.
Aron, one such worker; now in his prime, has seen what his work and toil would yield to become, would materialize as some lunatics victory cry/ How un-important his efforts would seem in reality. In the passage of time, he would be forgotten for building this marvelous castle, no one would even acknowledge his efforts. He would be called a thief for actually help erect this architects masterpiece.
The siren went off, and people huddled together at last, running past their construction equipment to come to get a cup of steaming coffee, the glasses clanged the metal container, and in the cold mist; every one remained just their shadows. Aron saw them all, and finally joined the line albeit last to get his cup of coffee too. Somehow the usual routine did not seem to work for him today. He felt the pinching of divine doubt which could not be concealed any longer. It was bursting forth from the seams. It was completely covering his entirety.
The owner came with his symbolic whip, the register he carried forth. he brought it out and called out a few names, the lucky few who would get their daily weekly wage today. Aron was not lucky again; he twitched and moved to ask the owner once done, when his turn would come!
“Bugger off, you lowly scum and if you once again ask me then i would beat you till never’s end”
Aron had had enough of these endless gruelling days and nights. The past was the filth and the present seemed like a coffin with nails, There was no peace even once dead? Was there?
He moved like shadows amidst shadows, He kept invisible and spoke less and the next whole week he kept about his business more so than usual, none of his fellow workmen could see any change in him probably because everyone was wearier than usual. The castle was rising, abominable in its structure and impressive beyond recognition.
Something is brewing deep within; there is no way that this could be solved by anyone or could it?
Aron had for long been brewing; and brooding. His close friend, simon tried to offer him some reprieve.
“ This is what bums like you and I are meant for; the world is uninhabitable. It is not for the poor or the rational. It is only for those who have sold their soul to the devil. It is for those who have become hypocrites; even to themselves”
Aron knew what simon was dragging towards; everyone in this wretched plant mirrored their lives on the same lines, no individual left; only a mass collective hysteria. It was funny how the capitalistic system which perched on the ideals of every individual to become who they chose to be; actually created this in turn. The present state of events, where everyone worked for only one person; The Man.
Aron had come to the conclusion; after many other repeated attempts to set himself straight. There was no way out of this; other than rapid dramatic change. Change brought upon by real chaos. Real fear bringing upon change in the mentality of the owner. The castle had become the refuge for idiocy and ignorance. And Aron would not take it any fucking more.
He worked perilously and almost invisible. He collected those things which would make him a god in his own eyes. He met with his underground friends; the type of people most would not see in broad daylight. They remained in solitude talking on esoteric subjects in dingy pubs and motel rooms, Aron frequented them now more than ever, though he knew through his being what they were discussing; he himself was never party to their sophist driven debates. He knew his being, and understood perfectly.
But there was deeper melancholy in him now; he sought a solution, a permanent fix to the monstrosity called the ‘castle’.
His friends too picked up on the castle, they talked vulgar about the construction of brick which had no life and yet sucked the life of million others, like the great Egyptian pyramids or the constructions of hindu temples or even the Mayan edifices. To construct something inorganic which took the life of the many others living here and now. What could be a more heinous crime than this in the face of this world?
Aron asked them what to do, even though he knew all along what must be done.
He knew the answers were right when it poured in unison from his anonymous friends.
“The castle must be burnt! The castle must be buried! The castle must be cast back to where it came from! Back to eternal darkness!”
Aron collected invaluable items over the next couple of weeks, something which could make an explosion. Something which would be potent enough to remove what man was endeavouring to create in the first place
Some say that the architect, the mason, the builder have the power of god. They can create beauty and harmony in a world which resonates only with intent of dark chaos.
Some say that the creator is overflowing with the will of divine. Creating what cannot be seen or known until done so already!
Aron did not feel like this now. His home made device was ready; sweat and effort overpowered. Nights working at the dismal castle and days spent in the hope of something fruitful coming about. The day destroying the night. The way it should be.
Aron knew that what he was doing was right. There was something which was pushing him; his will to do this. Though no action in this world is justified or right; but some actions are more willed than others. That is what was happening now.
He piled the explosives at dawn, with the sun rising behind him. There was no one left; most workers drowned in their efforts had already left to get what little sleep they could muster up before being beckoned to the ‘castle’ yet again.
Aron looked at the giant construction; not of some god; but of some sure evil; the owner standing at the parapet of one of the floors of this endless construction. The sun dawning now behind him, and he all gloating and all knowing the suffering of everyone around. Became somehow even more powerful in this... Aron could sense this.
This was the god of old. The Ra and Indra of ages gone. The god which demanded of man, not giving freedom but draining his will and attention against his will, so that something beautiful might come out of it. For what use? For whose emancipation?
Aron lit the match; and continued to look at the evil owner. A spineless creation of the damned, the owner saw him now clearer; and he saw what aron had been up to. Yes he now understood; how the under dog had swept past him; and his impenetrable castle. How one single could cause the cancer, and free the body whole!
That day, even the sun’s glory was felt inseparable to the blast which caused the castle to fall. The castle which only moments before was standing tall. Standing proud, now was piles and piles of brick and mortar. Steel and blood. The owner came tumbling down; and verily he was trapped under steel. The same steel he once thought would become his home. The same steel which once offered him to be distanced from the common, from the downtrodden or the fallen. Now was the source of his own downfall.
The blast was dramatic, the smell of smoke and sulphur made everyone wake up from their homes with a jolt. The day has just begun. And yes it was truly a glorious one!
The castle we build sometimes are in thin air (of our own imagination), these are hopes dreams and loves which we hope to create and/or reconcile in one single lifetime.
The castles which men create; when they become old and fixed in some sort of life routine, are indeed dangerous surmountable to fatal. These castles are fixed in false notions of power. That somehow glory and immortality remains in the physical / material plane. For some it is indeed a physical castle, their home or their work. For some it is the false notion of passion and lust.
I have indeed cancelled many such castles which I had hoped to create. I have indeed raised them to the dust where they shall remain. For I rather be free from the false notions of security in this transiting life; than be doomed to spend eternity trapped under unforgiving cold steel..
Peace

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Man Made Meditation