Guarding the Shadows: Claiming my Post
An emotional new video series from A Beautiful Grind
(Welcome to Guarding the Shadows, a new series here at A Beautiful Grind. Follow along as I read, with the written transcript underneath the video, and find out more about this series in the ‘bookkeeping’ section at the end of this piece.)
Claiming my Post
I have been beaten, battered, bruised, and broken while building and maintaining this post guarding the shadows. This place is not one for the weak or wary.
I came here knowing the dangers; I took my place here by spiritual force, despite all warnings, because I knew someone must, and I knew few to none would be willing, as almost none were aware of the full scope of this task; I aimed to keep things the way I found them, and do my work in private, though things did not pan out to my preferences, in the way of privacy, at least.
To protect the few who would have taken this post from doing so out of ignorance, pride, or any other false determination, I forced my way here- in the process stealing what many grew to believe might have been their chance to shine, to be heroic (but this post is not one to be taken for glory). Acting rashly in the eyes of many (though I had a clear consideration and reason for my fiery will), prepared to downcast any and all contention aimed at discouraging me from enlisting, I took my rightful position in this spiritual war.
The post was to be taken for duty, so any who might have been rightfully willing to have taken this place would only have appreciated my adamance, if aware of the full scope of such duty. I, too, appreciated their adamance and recognized their nobility (in the case of some) or innocent pride (in the case of others), but I knew my capabilities, my training, and the necessity for specifically me to claim this position, having witnessed and understood things no others could nor should have.
A back-and-forth tussle between good-doers of varying intention, yet all fighting to protect each other.
A beautiful show: by some of pure love, by some of the innocent desire for purpose, and by others for other things- but mostly relatively good things.
Intense struggle with pain and sorrow for the victor alone, but eternal peace and joy for the rest.
The full bounty was unknown by any but I- but even for myself only until, and if, the war would be won.
Yet, as with any war, this was to be fought in many battles.
Upon completion of the first wave of battles, I believed the bounty to be sealed.
As part of the bounty I believed myself to be earning, I should receive specific, ultimately depressing knowledge for myself- and myself alone- which should remain with me- and only me- permanently, eternally.
The war was one to, amongst other objectives, defend each other from holding this brutal post (and so the knowledge), from which the guard would be set to defend everyone else from such a depressing fate, as these understandings should be imparted unto, eventually, only me.
Of this first objective- of safeguarding this post- success seems to have been earned.
Now, from here, upon the well-earned success of this initial mission that has taken many lifetimes, I safeguard sacred knowledge to be known by the Universal mind by way of the living, but to be kept from full disclosure to any but one, by and for the one holding this post- for the knowledge itself is deeply scarring in its nature, of deeply sad and undefeatable, unchangeable, concrete sentiment.
We all learned this together, through and unto me.
Further, due to the trauma of this special knowledge (that any would be glad to live without), any attempt at glory beyond duty would afford pieces of understanding to escape into the minds of the perpetrator, or the minds of their loved ones and supporters- a grave, potential mistake, holding the ultimate repercussion of turning the Universe to shards, with the need to be put back together, over and over again, infinitely, until the job could be executed as designed.
This breaking of the Universe was indeed conceived, many times, and with each instance, a deeper wound to my soul.
Truth can not be corrupted despite humanity’s greatest attempts- truth can, however, be hidden, and so these truths hide with me, in gouges to my soul, gouged out over many lifetimes and many re-situations of this mission, due to many attempts of coup upon this bank of knowledge which I hold, safeguarded within my heart, mind, and soul.
I have fought- and won- an intense war to hide this from my very spirit. What makes you think I am unprepared to hide this damning knowledge from you, oh curious wanderer?
Making this mission more difficult than ever should have been, was the spiritually (and even physically) public nature of my discovery of these truths, for, due to such complete publicity, the attempted coup upon my sanity, by way of this knowledge I have been holding since discovery, was displayed publicly, for any and all to see. This publicity placed doubt between me and my intentions and everyone else, as if I were hiding something beautiful from the world, or maybe simply holding the post for my own glory, benefit otherwise, or simply out of insanity based in ignorance and arrogance.
Let me set the record straight, here. The knowledge was grand, yet disgusting; profound, yet absolute shit, worthy of nothing but flushing into the abyss. This knowledge was something any- myself included- would have granted to their worst enemies to hold if such were only for the purpose of glory. If this knowledge were unnecessary, the constant flushing by the healing forces of this world would have succeeded in their attempted cleansing of my soul- but my post is necessary.
Doubt over my intentions and the truth of my bounty- which I tried my best to convey in my weakened mental and physical state- clouded the jewels I did return from hell with, making the jewels seem pale, when in reality these jewels were made of our deepest dreams and greatest desires. My presentation of such jewels were to crowds not ready to receive them, and so they were kept hidden in my knowledge bank, behind a key even I have not had access to- until now.
Trust me: you do not want to know what I learned while deep in those dark places, and you do want what I found as possible for us to obtain once we accept the unchangeable, including the guidance many have tried to offer before me, and which I have also returned to the living dimension with, ready to follow.
Ricochet Blame; Diagnose the System When I look inwards Into my heart Deep into my soul I find Peace there Confident in myself I could sit there nearly forever if up only to me In a world shared by many I have learned I must come forth Retreat into me can only be temporary Yet occasional retreat is necessary for relief For in the existential world is pain and sorrow Too much strife to remain anything forever Except maybe for mentally ill Until the world is healed Manic depression Hallucination and delusion No the problem is not me Look deep inside for long and you will find the same The problem is so grand The problem broad and deep The problem is not me I offer me only peace Give me worldwide Peace and you will see The problem is not me My illness a reflection Deep problems in our world As problems always radiate As blame tends to ever be cast As the bullets ricochet I see my mindstate as necessary
A Beat So Strong
There was once a young child- a boy full of joy and hope, enthralled with life, but lacking any excitement. Witnessing the birth and subsequent growth of this young spirit, by any with eyes open, one would notice something about him, glaringly obvious: he was a living testament. To the fact that the excitement of the world was being vacuumed out of existence, by something maybe yet known by any, but surely a truth to be found, any who would come to know this child would see this fact, as if written in bold on his sweet, innocent, gawking little face.
As he grew, his lackluster disposition became more and more obvious, until, upon entering adulthood, he exploded- just like that. A literal bomb of a body; a spiritual explosion.
As they collected the pieces, they found a heart still beating- the only piece still intact.
Kept as a relic, protected and visited in museums for centuries to come, people studied the beating heart, and learned lessons they already knew, but constantly forgot.
If We Could Sense Truth It sure is a pity when good times fade In this world where nothing lasts I know lost goodness as fate I also know goodness shall be found again and again Fading goodness is sure still a pity Now imagine a mind blocked off from its heart Divine communion severed Depression as hopelessness ensues Fading goodness a seemingly eternal state Time and time again Angst created We can not simply keep patching symptoms Not forever What we must heal is the severing We must rebuild the divine human connection The alternative is continued mayhem Could any truly enjoy mayhem?
When Time was Made True
Upon the backs of those who have suffered greatly has this future been conceived- deeply longed for since the beginning of consciousness.
There had been storms of both natural and synthetic conception, growing since the dawn of time, all causing immense destruction, culminating in a broken world, a broken living spirit, a broken day.
In what felt like simply another blink- a next moment- the clouds parted and gave way to ever-improving times, of peace, love, laughter, joy, and all things good.
As eyes of the people opened to the light, with undeniably blissful levels of relief, an old, gray, worn man stepped forward from the crowd.
“This is The Better Day!” he proclaimed, and he raised his arms to the skies, became engulfed by a blinding light, a warm blast of pure, refreshing air, and the sound of children laughing with joy, all displacing his being to the senses of any witness.
As their senses grew accustomed to the light, the air, and the joyful sounds, the man became again visible- but he was no longer old, gray, or worn.
Renewed in both body and spirit, cleansed of the suffering he had once endured, he suddenly began to run.
Not in any direction, but in place did he run, as fast as he could. He ran, he jumped up and down, he danced, he waved his arms around in jubilation, and he sang the first words that came to his lips.
They say he sang for years- sad songs, happy songs, songs remembering the good times and the bad. His songs were etched in their minds; forever would they remember where they came from.
According to their tales, he sang until the last person sitting before him moved from their place, on into The Better Day, and then he followed them.
Surrounded Oh great shadows loom Taking space in every room Entered through them who loom Be them righteous or be them of doom Oh great shadows loom Great shadows loom Due to confusion Brutality of humans Great shadows loom Oh great shadows loom In my mind As in yours Great shadows loom Great shadows loom Oh free us from this Free us with light Light-hearted spirit Achieved through spiritual might Free us from shadows In the daytime shadows are fine but not in our minds Free us from hatred Free all and leave these looming shadows behind
Bookkeeping
Guarding the Shadows is to be a regular installment in the A Beautiful Grind posting rotation. As far as a posting schedule, I am thinking to release a new post every month or so, but to not have as strict a schedule as our usual posts, in order to allow for more creative freedom.
Let me know you appreciate this work by hearting this post so it can spread a bit :) and if you feel so inspired and able, you can donate to the cause of keeping this work sustainable for me to create by buying me some cups of tea! Click the underlined text and choose your amount on the following screen, as many times as you’d like, as often as you’d like.
I am considering saving these posts towards a physical publication, to be released eventually; I’m not sure about details on this, but however it manifests, it will always be available first to my dear community, so subscribe if you want to stay in the loop!
If you have any questions, comments, or any other remarks regarding this post, please feel welcome to leave a comment on this post, or to join us in the subscribers-only chat space on the A Beautiful Grind Substack.
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-Aaron J Kaplan (A Beautiful Grind)