Natural Division: A Prosaic Writing Inspired by Ralph Waldo Emerson

Zack Jerzyk, Contributor

Trekking beyond the bounds of human interaction, I find not harm, nor despair, nor oppression, nor even spiritual death.

I instead discover myself in an exuberant expansion of deciduous and coniferous forestry, where in the glades I lay witness to the multitude of feral, autonomous souls who inhabit such a surreal plane, as the denisons of a terrestrial nirvana.

I dare not intrude upon their tranquility; I only stand, as a stone spire, an observer of the environment’s lively effusion, circulating with vigor as the flowing blood of a Universal Being.

At the border of the spiritual thicket, I likewise set my sights on the forestry of civilization, a Dark Forest, existing opposite these sylvan lands.

The Dark Forest: it is not altogether hideous.

Remnants of pulchritude linger in the heart of the most foul and livid whole, persecuted by the incessant cacophony of superfluous, tumultuous clamors.

The trees, twisted and knotted in their pallid, deprived shelter, yet nonetheless, trees, divine creations exhibiting elegance of structure and artful craftsmanship, provide sanction to those spiritually impoverished critters who live on as cinders amongst the rubble of the extinguished flames of supernal zeal. The sustaining manna scarcely falls in those concrete plains as it does in this wooded Promised Land.

The ghastly, sybaritic vagrants, mere shells of their original childlike potential, thrive in the noxious, besmirched atmosphere that enfeebles what remains of the mind and soul, until whatever wonderments that ever touched upon the youthful heart are cast into void.

The light of day that once assimilated into their passionate ruminations, now reflects off the lens of their eyes, permitting sight only to the barren landscape of their own creation.

Those menial glimmers of extant Hope, tightly clinging to their scattered protectors, are gathered and guarded in sacred places, out of the smothering, toxic reach of decaying socialites.

I send up my earnest prayers to those earthen saviors, who in sacrificial altruism, cast themselves into wasteland, that they may, with absolute success, expose the shrouded, yet effulgent spirit to the pitiable masses, and reinvigorate the congealed vessels of the Universal Being.

Meanwhile, I await their ascendance into this celestial grove, in the hopes that they may yet participate in the curative blanketing of the foliage and spiritual sustenance, transcendent.