63 - gestate

I learned my lesson years and years ago. If it's not you who is writing about the thing in your mind, someone else will do. I have no idea how this phenomenon happens but I am sure that it exists.

That's why maybe I am writing, to get cited about the things that I think. Wouldn't that be a glory?

Here and then I have been writing, basically not purposefully but as a revelation, divine in its very nature.
And that is what I am trying to do. Leaving marks on a stone in an island so that one stranger, like I was once, finds it and relieves from the soreness that comes with the feeling of being all alone.

Habitants of the Easter Island lived and prospered in their civilization. The island was large and resourceful. Is that the reason why, I don't know, but the population of people grew steadily until the island was no longer beautiful. Then out of boredom within ugliness, people grew angry and blamed each other in fury. As you know, fires sparkle from hatred. And so did in the remaining forests. Birds flew and some islanders fled to the ocean in their small boats. There was no joy in destruction and pain. They once built a civilization, carving statues to welcome their fishermen in their return from the ocean. Then it was put out by the wind and the rain. Only leaving the carved stones still facing the ocean.

Then someone explored the oceans and named the island after a common religion's holiday (which probably was derived from some pagan traditions).

Then in our metaphysic world ruled by the physics, it was just another story left behind. And our ambitions to conquer and self illusions to rule remained intact, waving joyfully to our earthlings of the island.