Metanoia

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As my dense eyelids frantically struggled to pry themselves open, so too did my burdened mind. Thoughts dove into my psyche like water rapidly rushing into a balloon; making it expand and eventually burst, destroying the boundaries that were initially set on my brain, and thus, making my potential undefined—unable to be fathomed. Although my two, worldly eyes continued to stay shut, my spiritual third eye commenced its long awaited unlocking process. Soon, I began to question the vast universe along with its immense plethora of mysteries. Right and wrong, good and bad, easy and difficult; even the wonders of life and death soon began to invade the deep abyss that was my mind.

Would the world really be better if life was always simple and painless instead of consistently arduous—if we could achieve any task, any dream or any skill with the utmost ease? Whether we enjoy the truth or not, the truth is that we learn as we endure and embrace the many tribulations in any of our journeys in life. But on the other hand, no one would be able to do anything if life was always difficult, right? If everyone lived and didn’t experience death, would that fix anything like war or poverty, would humans possess no desire, no purpose to fight each other? Would it triumphantly bring about true world peace, only heard in fables or read in books?

Well, if there is such an answer to this stifling enigma in life, I believe it would be similar to the answer I hold in my mind now: Everything in life needs a balance, I began to conclude. Where would life be if… Where would life… My pondering was rudely interrupted by a wet, sticky ooze that seemed to surround my entire body. As my eyes finally decided to unlatch, I realized that the viscous liquid that gradually began to envelop my entire figure was from my precious blood, still gently spilling out of my lower abdomen area like a free-running faucet, courtesy of the bullet that recently pierced through my side, turning my suit jacket and suit vest from a rich textured grey to a depressing, saturated, crimson red. I guess I didn’t do a really good job tying the bullet wound with my scarf that was usually tied securely around my left bicep.

The Life Of Dexter K. King: coming out soon

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