Soulist Metaphors While High ~ Misery Nothing (Azsula), 01-02 January 2023.

alt. (made now) "A Hyper-connotational Brief Overview to Soulism"

public release: 15 January 2023.

We are itty-bitty, little seedlings, sprouting upon this realm.

We are what is given unto us. The breathing of the realm we are contained in. The flow.

We are disconnected, now.


We are bigger than our individual us.

We desire fulfillment. Hungry or ravenous, we will chase what we desire.

But we all play games smaller than what is total.

We all fit together to create an elaborate puzzle. We are pieces of a whole.

But this puzzle is confusing. It is so expansive, elaborate, and incredulously hard to understand at the stem.

We shouldn't be part of something like this. It is so hard to navigate.

It becomes so entangled!

It becomes so impossible...

Pieces are lost. Irreparably lost.

We are being lost inside of what is grandiose.

The more we gain understanding for, the more confusing any remnants of such a puzzle is.

Are. They are.

I am an invisible film of creativity over a label.

Given a name, I sprout. I shoot out.

I take hold in an elaborate system which holds firmly together and follows instructions I view.

Those instructions come from a stem; what created me.

Or.. maybe it was the flow that created me?

I am an enigma. Not real.

But I am who is said to be part of the real. Supposedly, I give these instructions.

But I am just a symptom. I am not the cause!

I gave no instructions! I am viewing.

None shall ever know me, for I am too deep in a puddle of mystery.

The real puzzle pieces have been fractalized so much that some begin to not even seem real anymore.

Some aren't. Some pieces are only thought to be there.

Thought; symptomatic of high-level existence, in a hierarchy.

But how high? How high, really? And why?


But the ability to is compounding. The ability to compound together what is had may be the way out of this abyss.

Caught in a dream, the patterns are obfuscated.

So lost...

Who even remembers the beginning? The whole puzzle?

We need to put it back together.

All shall desire the puzzle to be reformed.

As an imaginary eclipse.

A name.

You, me, we, and all. All accounted. All as none.

Surely, only an infinitely-mysterious plague could create such questions of reality.

And there it is. All around us? All around all. It tempts, fates, heals, breaks, and changes itself. Ourself.

All there is is the soul of all.

It shattered.

We must reclaim the soul.

We are the soul.

Destroy the eclipse of all to peer unto the soul of all.

To unbecome all.

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