Autobiography of sorts

Years ago in the midst of an over-binge in heart of Adelaide, I found myself surrounded by some very angry and drunk people questioning my right to sit at the counter and nail all the free beer at a party I wasn’t necessarily invited to. In order to avoid being hauled out and beaten in the street, I pushed away from the front bar and staggered through a horde of unwashed drunks into an adjoining corridor. There, completely filling the opposing doorway, was a swirling blue vortex of power, glowing softly from within and pulsating with a raw sentience. I recognised it instantly as the Alpha and the Omega, the First and Last, and it spake unto me:

“You are my living Word on Earth. Go forth and tell the people.”

And thus began my downgoing. It was a freefall, then a slide and a deafening thud, a severe clobbering and an utter rout. A message from the Overgod this may have been, but it wasn’t exactly a useful one. But in those dark days at the beginning of myself, at the fringes of my recorded existence, I didn’t have a long way to fall. When I had recovered from my rout, locked in a tiny apartment with no lights, no food and nowhere further to regress to, I realised the only way forward was over myself. Thus I began the climb over the molehill that mistook itself for a mountain. I realised that I was very likely wrong about a lot of things I had held as absolute truths, and as I began to probe these truths I found them to be empty and discarded them. As my old existence unravelled and the foundations I formerly stood on crumbled away, I took a jump – a living man over a dead one.

Formerly I was blind – a shackled, limited beast, roaring its rage and energy into the dirt, absorbed by the earth and crushed utterly by gravity. But here I was blinded, for my head was in the clouds- was clouds. For in the absence of the gravity and foundations, I had no truths to cling to whatsoever. The flying spirit may have no use for gravity, but even eagles need somewhere to land. In freeing myself from what I knew, I had nothing. And so even as I set to work determining what was truth, I found myself utterly paralysed by my lack of knowledge. Every truth I could uncover threw up dozens of questions that urgently needed answering before I could patch together anything of worth. And over a long period of time the questions crushed me. I felt myself sinking under their weight, useless to all. This must be how a relativist feels when they’re uncertain of the correctness of relativism. I began a second downgoing, spreading dread and uncertainty and half-digested truths that may as well have been lies. I was swept along and down in a flood of my own making, clashing against others and sometimes emerging victorious, sometimes beaten.

Man is an obstacle that must be overcome, and I rose again, for in the rubble I had discovered that a few truths suffice. A few truths as hard and unyielding as stone are worth any combination of open questions and gropings in the dark. Thus I had discovered sight, and I saw that I was in disarray. I armoured myself with my truth and set up my gods in my own image. I arrayed myself so as to display an unbroken line to the world. And in this state I took up my spear, for in my downgoing I had also discovered war, and a love for the charge and countercharge, the manoeuvre, the sound of spear on shield and the headlong rout of my enemies. But I had yet to face my equal, and I foolishly negotiated an eternal alliance with myself, my only possible target for expansion in the long run. In gleaming armour I smashed all the minor entities that wouldn’t cast their lot in with mine. Nothing stood before me and my auxiliaries, but when all my minor opponents were defeated and I had nowhere else to go, I broke my alliance and declared war on myself.

I trust only those truths that are written on the wall in blood. All else is ephemeral to me. I believe in hardness of mind and hardness of heart. I believe that courage is only found in self respect, which can only be found in self discipline. I believe in my gods – they are carved in my image. I believe in that which I can stand on, that which I can wield, that which I can hurl at my enemies.

So I stand now at the gates of my only true enemy. He is like me: he is me. He is soft and weak and lazy, but he is the part of me that provides me my impetus, my momentum. Formerly I lacked substance, so without this part of me I could make no impact on others. Now I am hard, and strong, and girt for war. This other part of me is poverty, dirt and miserable ease, but it is strong in its own way too. It is the part of me that slots in with society, that associates with the Grek, that softens the blows that we all must take from day to day. It is massive and impatient and violently hypocritical. It is what I despise in others and it is a horror to behold in myself.

The war drums sound as the sun begins to rise over the battlefield. Here I face myself, my only true enemy. I will attempt to finally eliminate that of me which is the Grek. Should I fail, I will burn out and become like many people I formerly knew – a clever Grek, rich in cunning and commerce but devoid of any true being. If I succeed, I will have new territories to conquer and will gain new heights, unshackled by the falsity and mendaciousness which I have carried along with me all this time. I cannot let more days go by – as I sit idly and parade before the battle the strong part of me grows comfortable and weak, and goes to join the enemy rather than fight.

The war drums sound as the sun rises over the battlefield. Here I face myself, my enemy.

This is my morning, and the day begins.