@lordawesometony2764

3 years ago

Just found out who Camu was. It was pretty cool that he thinks similarly to myself, and it was surprising on the correlation of what he believed and something I wrote a while back after going through some difficult stages of growth. I’ll put it below if anyone is interested. In the midst of a windy day, there danced a cloud of dust. It was so spontaneous, as if the wind summoned a dancing spirit, and as if it were to give the wind some meaning. Twirling infinitely in circles, it danced with the wind, and then the gathering of dust began to think. It wondered why it spun so furiously, and why no one ever told it why it began to do so in the first place. Nevertheless, there must have been a reason why it had awaken in the first place in this spinning state, so it continued to let its particles flow rapidly with the wind. The cloud of dust then noticed that from its friction with the surrounding dirt, it began to sing. “What lovely sounds,” the cloud of dust thought, “I must have been made to sing like this.” And so it sang, becoming bigger as each melody invited more earth particles to join its choir. It wasn’t long until it wondered even further, and it questioned the meaning to it all. “Who may I be singing to?” it asked, but no one would ever answer its continuous questioning. The cloud of dust, who dance furiously, demanded answers. It would rebel against its own nature and quit the forceful spinning if no one answered. As much as the cloud of dust tried, it couldn’t stop. None of it was its decision, not even if it were to will it. The dust cloud cursed the surrounding forces that pushed its particles. “Stop!” It said, “I did not choose to move!” But no consolation would fall into the cloud’s understanding. As time went by, the dust cloud began to give up hope. No happiness ran through its sandy veins, and the once singing tune became monotonous. “I have no meaning,” it declared, “life is but the spontaneous awakening of the spirit without answers to be found.” The wind finally gave out, and the cloud that once danced and sang gave out with it. No further than a mile from where it began, no longer than an hour from its birth, it stood there in pieces indistinguishable from the other clumps of dirt on which it died. Soon enough the wind began to blow again, and it picked up a clump of dust that rested loosely on the surface. It was so spontaneous, as if the wind summoned a dancing spirit, and as if it were to give the wind some meaning.

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