Equivocal Relationships

The Beginning:
It’s not my time, yet the distant siren calling draws me nearer. Wind-struck, my venture into the eye of the storm was a difficult one. The hiatus between me and my destination seemed ever so far. I row faster to close into my target while steadily; the bitter coldness begins softly eating towards this Zion. I hurry on, but I appear lost in this vast ocean as if gods have led astray my ship, but my mind remains to lay focused on its heaven destination. The rhythmic stroking robbed me of energy, but the dwindling hope robbed me of spirit. Struck by inanition and without a neither straightforward nor definite road to follow in this labyrinth, I am forced to make my own golden road and hope that luck chances me to lead me in the right direction. Serpents that dwell in the sea won't catch me off guard like Laocoon, the priest who lost his own and his two son's lives to Poseidon’s two snakes in Greek mythology. Nevertheless, such a challenge is blasphemy. These supernatural forces impede not my attention nor focus in my destiny. Perhaps a dietary change of being ophiophagous would secure my problems with inanition if serpents were really to hunt me down. Suddenly out of nowhere, I felt this cold sore feeling channeling through my vertebrate. I turned around to see my past tracks and that is when I realized. Time, not the devious serpent, was my competition in this race. The water looming behind my raft was falling into the shadows. What borders water and time were dissolving particles that will soon reach me? Trapped in the genesis of nihility, I just kept paddling forward as fast as I could. My mind in a state of oblivion with only the sole command of stroking forward jammed pushed my efforts of survival to the edge. After moments of uncertainty, I look up and get blinded by the avant-garde scene.

Translation: There are many fishes in the sea, but I reverence this particular one. This is the tale of my arduous journey to meet her.

The Journey:
They say seeing is half of the adventure. The other half is walking it, and so I did. Literally. When I finally approached this lacuna, I realized my expectations were flawed; it was not a castle in the sky but a tree up high. Bear with me here in this uncanny speculation. This stairway to the crescent angel was no immanent illusion as I planted my first step onto its misty plateau. As I proceeded to ascend upwards, my hands pricked along the sui generis imbrications of the tree's bark formations, which confirmed my encapsulation within this matrix. At this thought, my burdened heart begins to pace unsteadily upbeat as if accompanied with war drums inoculated with the tone of poison. Reminded of the insufferable hypochondriasis, I tensely grasp these spinose walls, bleeding while this opium-like feeling gyrates my suppressed conscious. Unfortunately, my soporific body continues to climb these flights of stairs as if I was a patient of anesthetic awareness. Strangely, the continual trail of crimson droplets only strengthens my spirit, empowering my oneiromancy. The lacrimation from the lancing pain freezes as I reach higher up in this towering mass. Advancing against such ravishing avalanche, my weary legs begin to stiffen from the coldness as if oncogensis has occurred. At last, I reach the end of the onus expedition and all that is left is to ascertain the fruits of my effort.

Translation: And so I started from the bottom and built my way to one of her top people, but along the way are some challengingly tough obstacles.