Hell is a Boomerang

Logos, the illuminating word, is a threat to the intrinsic ambiguity of existence; it fragments an existence already shredded by time. Logos is the form-giving principle, and I despise form. Even my lower soul, my anima, despises form because it is only in the moral and existential ambiguity of my Being that it gets to wallow in the shadows of the underworld and sink into the abyss of meaninglessness where it finds the highest freedom.

Logos is the ray of light; it is a threat to darkness. But it is also a threat to the necessary ambiguity for creative impulse. The only place where I can have some gentle light, some castrated and safe logos, and some creative freedom, is in poetry.

Poetry is the soft light; it is not sharp like laser but gentle like the incoherent light of my study; it lights my room but also lets the shadows loose and relax. Oh, I love the shadows; in them I miss my beloved, for a shadow is nothing but the missing of light.

I cannot love the light without loving the shadow. I am a lover of this world, of its darkness and injustice too, for it is the ugly and the unjust that heighten my consciousness of beauty and justice. We are more conscious of beauty in the presence of the ugly than in its absence. In an all white-colored room, the consciousness of whiteness dies out soon and gets lost in the monotony of a homogenous perception.

Oh, I love imperfect and inhomogeneous things, for it is falling short that keeps me high; it is imperfection that keeps me awake to perfection. I love all my defects; I adore them like my pets; they are my blessings, my support. How can I not love everything that I am, my light and my shadows alike!  

For consciousness, a perfect heaven becomes all hell. I love and praise this earth where heaven and hell can live by and enliven me. I love even my hell. My hell is my own; it is my ground and my truth. I walk my hell everyday, and I even take it out for a stroll in the city, but I keep it on leash, a leash made of leach, so it doesn’t escape. But I know it won’t! Hell is good and loyal. Try getting rid of it and it will come back even stronger. Your hell is your boomerang.

Oh dear, love your hell; hell is family.


9 thoughts on “Hell is a Boomerang

    1. Thanks for commenting! You’re right, it’s in hell that we entertain the hope of heaven. And hoping heaven seems to be more rewarding than arriving at it.

      Liked by 1 person

    1. Thanks for giving this a read and the comment! That’s an interesting question for me. I do identify with it but have a hard time admitting to it in writing 🙂

      Like

  1. I lol’d at your finishing lines. One reason was its comical imagery and other reason was how beautiful it was.
    Yeah I love my hell, except when it gnaws me instead and makes me writhe in pain. And when it makes me insufferable, I just want to toss it away and take refuge in the alters of paradise. But then then the purism of paradise bores the hell out of me and hell makes a comeback as if it wants to lick my wounds just when it has started healing, and it all begins all over again.
    Hell is indeed a boomerang, please ‘impart’ that leash of yours to me 🙂

    Liked by 1 person

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