It was a two-half story. The second half always follows the first half, but actually there is no obligation for the second one to be a follower. The second half, from its nature of existence, follows the route and path set by the first half of the story. Check the edge of the half orange remaining from the slide of the knife. The life of the second half is to complete what the first half has not completed. There is never an end, and sometimes it is true. Even the second half tries to accomplish the missing links the first half fails to achieve, this does not mean that the story can have an end after both. The second half is a recall of the discrepancies of the first half. Dualism. It becomes a total diagnosis at last. But the existence of the second half gets much fade out as it is borne to be a follower. I turned within the labyrinth of the second half of a nation of search and contemplation. Without the memory of the beginning, life may be more gorgeous. But a formula of the reason vs the result, it becomes a spiral that conscious individual fails to get rid of the boundaries that are installed from the moment that unconsciousness invades the cognitive process of generation. This time it was only a mid-night dream, divided unwillingly by my natural response to a threat of nightmare, but when the sky gets clear, it is the real start of the second half of life. Sometimes there is no choice.Libellés : dream, dualism, self, sense |
