I am legion.
I am the one that is forgot, the one in the road that you know not. The man that will affect your life, though the impact is hidden through time and tithe. You’ll move on, just as you must, and the veils will fall again to dust. That is the mythology, that is the timing; that is the truth. The faces fade, the voices mesh into the cacophony, and in that wild din, inseparable from legion, I am.
I am legionâ€”I am one, there is nowhere you can run. I am you, and we are here, waiting for your every fear. Though good or ill, our music will shape and mold your thoughts, twist your imagination; we are your every role-model, that you aspire, that you desire, that you avoid with abandon, consumed by fire. I wish that you could see, know, and wonder, because that is the path to enlightenment: escape from madness, even though it consumes your road, makes you see it as your own. It’s a lie, and you accept it, and we smile, though it saddens us. And the tones lament, a ring of hollow sadness, for the failure of consciousness, and independent suffering.
I am legion, and lost, I am thee. You too, are legion. The woman in the store searching for a loaf of bread, or the child on the bus waiting, perhaps dreading school. That legion, seeks to draw within, the facets of humanity and subvert, because we conform, though we buck and rage against such summary and reduction. It’s a trap that is sprung merely by living, by walking along the thread of fate and accepting whatever outcome it presents. What other alternative is there? Some say conjecture encompasses us all, and within legion, all cries for mercy are hollow, pealing from beings unaware, childish, and blind to the universe which incubates us.
So forget me, spawn of legion, as I shall forget you, even if you’ve saved me from death, forever altered my path without either of us knowing the myriad of chaotic branches unexplored. Does any single cell in a human body understand its significanceâ€”care about those it encounters along the way? One can only hope the greater being comprised upon our parts collects our wisdom and learns from the chaff, else the universe, God and all, have no categorical imperative, no greater trend toward salvation.
That is a taste of insanity, dear legion. No creeping horror or looming shadow upon our souls carries such weight or impact. Channel, and drink, and sup on the lifeblood of careless wonder, as it traces along, drives through emptiness, piercing endless barriers to entropy, and feeds chaos. We teeter on that delicate rift, between absolute oblivion and complete philosophic vision, forever wishing to careen in final cataclysm into either void.
But most of all, do not read this seeking sense or cohesion; the universe, whatever its form, is not a thing within our ken, and even as legion, thriving and devouring time and space, we are insignificant and weak. Lest the crystal crack, each beam through the facets is one aspect of the whole, no refraction of metaphoric light can possibly perceive its medium. This is the extent of my knowledge, though meandering and lacking in relevance. Just as every minor thing: toast and traffic, sand and silence, these words shimmer among clamoring multitudes and can not find substance within you. Maybe some mote, or token shall, in the background guide you.
But I shall never know, for I am legion.