Saturday, June 30, 2012

Of wounded Hephaestus

Life can always bring me down in unexpected ways. I’m so used to fall because of overdepressive thoughts, that an accepted impotency falls over me like my defining trait, I had a fall that Trygve could not help me, and I felt baffled. I couldn’t think of how to deal with it.

The world I am trapped in isn’t no longer one without zephyr winds, but rather a world where I’m incapable of perceiving them and being affected by them. Suddenly, the whole world looks abnormally uninteresting. Everything is so meaningless, and every activity is so discouraging I don’t know how a post-depressive mindscape could happen to bring me up again. After all, characteristics of mine missing during usual depressive seasons aren’t absent now. I am having them mindscapes and ideas being created, but they just don’t appeal to me.

All mourn for the wounded Hephaestus. Suddenly the only other force inside me that equals it somehow is Áine’s. However, even she can’t take the burden, only Hephaestus is strong enough for taking the quest forward. What Áine could do, though, is to heal him, with the help of the ever wise Vesta.

I can’t stop now. Everything is unfinished. I’m the only one who is talking about crests and quintessences. No one is practicing this leitmotifing thing. No one is worried about transferring some of those quintessences I feel. I not know one who could take these studies on. This is what I have to do. This is something I have to finish. If I’m done now, no one will never notice. I’m still too way out of view of the world.

Thinking of my mission as something only I can do brings mindtraps, but to the hell with that, says Vesta. What use could she be without that spirited bastard making everything so alive around here?

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