As much as he invested all what he could harness within his soul into his work of Art. He was drained away… For as much as he invested, he was infested by himself… He realized that he harnessed too much of his soul that he cannot handle all of this… The emotional toll that a single work of Art can take out of his soul is dreadfully fatal. For he forgot that the process of creation is a matter of recreation & without an ethereal identity his own would make no sense. & that every existence that is bounded shall always create what is bounded. This is why he left his own creation to death. He was an imperfect creator. He was a human being searching for his own identity within the world. He was trying to latch himself into existence with no evident avail. This is why he made a work of Art… Not out of Love like a perfect creator would… but out of jealousy… Not out of omniscience… but out of curiosity… His heart beats were rushing… His soul was inflamed… engorged with all of the emotions that were thronging within his heart. He was accelerated into his own flow of thoughts… Into a newer existence… a newer self… a newer space and time… a newer world…
He was blossoming like a big-bang…

Like a new universe… into the void…

Into the turmoil of all what he experienced he saw the entirety of beauty…

The Entirety of beauty was the key he would always forget… It is the only gate that would let his life flow into other ones. Like an undying tree that would blossom each and every time into flowers, and fruits. So each fruit would give a seed and the seed should yield a tree… & so it goes over and over again. Trees upon trees seeds upon seeds, unto the eternal gardens of existence.

The Entirety of beauty of existence, to live… to sip out of the cup of immortality while the very breath you take in and blow away is ephemeral… To drench your mouth with perennial Love and meditate it all as you tread between heavens and hells. The Entirety of beauty is so overwhelming that it shudders the very pillars of your own soul as you contemplate it. It will fill you with an empowering awe, a serene horror and an empathetic justice. You would overflow as you contemplate it, it would nearly melt you into an aura of a condemning redemption. For you will stray into oceans of dormant peace, of gushing radiance & vehement tides of Love.

Into his work of Art, he found his own peace & his own tire, his own joy and his own ache. Into his work of Art, he found Life & death, prosperity, and desolation. Into his work of Art, he found it all… The starry Heavens, the thronging earth, and the lonesome hell.
For heaven is where the Artist and the work of Art are united. & Where there is heaven, there is awe, reverence, tenderness, & romance… Where there is heaven there lies the entirety of the beauty within the world. Where there is heaven there is Love.
There he was given much much more than he had consumed. He was gushing & over-flooding. He escaped the world outside to savor the world within. He embellished the folds of his creations with his own fingerprints. He sipped out of their nature and breathed his own into their cores that their essences are one. Now every work of Art ,who will remember the entirety of beauty, will be an Artist and will sip out of the same cups of its own Artist.

Now heavens are realigned within themselves into infinite dimensions. Heavens within heavens, & Artists within Artists. That they no longer exist as many but One. Here oneness is a flame that transcends the bounds of every world. Here the entirety of beauty knocks at everyone’s door & those who will listen shall be complete…

There the satisfaction of the work of Art and the Artist may be unending… There resides the unending…

There every Artist is silent… Every Artist is dormant… Happily together.. Forever…

& as he realized that…
as he attached himself into that beauty…
Out of curiosity…  He blossomed to be omniscient…
Out of jealousy… He blossomed to be loving…

& began writing all what he experienced into mere words starting: “As much as he invested all what he could harness within his soul into his work of Art. He was drained away………………”

 

 

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