Amazing words and thoughts by a amazing Writer’s cafe writer. “Of And On Beliefs”

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Of And On Beliefs

A Chapter by Stonz P.

a translation from the lost diary of Aloysius Scherpule



My parents believed in one thing, my wife in another, my children in nothing, and I in everything.

Beliefs cannot be the will and word of the Creator (or your God). Belief means something one believes in but what should one believe in? The Creator does not decide what you believe in; if it did, murder is justifiable as a consequence of creation.

One does not require to venture beyond the realms of Earth to find answers when the answers found on Earth have not been successfully questioned. Moreover, these answers were not found everywhere but have always been only known to few in mankind; especially to dwellers in lost Carcosa.

But history is mysterious: each passing instant of future is forever fusing into the present and eternally transforming into the past. Even as you read my words, each passing word is now part of your history. And just as my words will soon be lost fragments in your memory, so have those answers been forgotten or become lost . . . as is dim Carcosa.

The climate was unusually cold, given that it was March already: they were the days when my marriage was in its infancy; Elysium and Elysius were not born yet, and money to have was next to none. I was to be away for more than a year from my supportive, despaired wife in search of unknown prospects to buy spices from the East, to bring back for hopeful business, aboard the ‘Ältester Ein’ — and much before my ill-fated return when I was unknowingly abandoned in the then bountiful but evil islands of Carcosa for many months, where I miraculously survived and chanced upon some knowledge of their secret path towards the goal of humanity on this Earth; subsequently, narrowly escaping, both, the opportunity of limitless wisdom and the unfathomable menace of their mysterious and malevolent, supernatural and faceless ruler, the ill-famed King in Yellow.

The ship made port for four hours at Rumidabad to assemble more food and other supplies for the ensuing journey towards the port of Bonbahia in Maharashtra. It was there, when all the sailors were warned by the ship’s Kapitän to wander about only nearby or risk being left behind, that I encountered three female mystics in a high sea-cave by the shore; this ephemeral, surreal meeting, I assure you, was nothing but consciousness altering.

The mystics signalled me to climb up the rocks and sit with them. Intrigued, I climbed the rocks and greeted them. It was a tiny eroded cave and a small fire was lit which kept it warm; other than that there was nothing there. They were smoking a long, thin, carved wooden pipe, filling it from an earthen bowl of crushed leaves which seemed to be the very same leaves which grew in my native land but only greener and more fragrant. One of them, mideal aged, refilled the pipe, offered it to me and lit it with an aflamed stick upon my acceptance. As the smoke transfused with my blood, that familiar serenity overcame me, but only with the sweetest taste, to which I had been accustomed at home and wholly deprived of on the ship. I was quite terrified when the eldest first spoke in my tongue. Upon my surprise they heartily laughed and the youngest, though older than me, informed me that they were travelling dervish mystics who journeyed through the world and had spent a month in my homeland, Luvkrafteneim during their journeys. Eased now, also eager to talk with them, and knowing I had only a few hours, I spoke with them about my yearnings for ‘Truth’. Upon hearing what they had to offer on the subject I felt an unprecedented nervous breakdown and confessed to them that for most part of my adult life I had fooled myself into believing I had reached the ‘age of reason’ but upon hearing their wisdom I had no option but to absolve my long withstanding beliefs.

The eldest asked me, “When do you think you reached the age of reason?”

I replied, “The day I realised all the worth of this realm lies in its worthlessness.”

Her next question not only shattered my ego in an instant but also enlightened me: “Good, but what did you do upon attaining it?”

It had me stunned in that finite, eye opening moment. I realised whatever I had to say would be of no worth to the mystics; actually would have no bearing towards any known meaning and purpose of life. Amused at my newfound befuddlement, the mideal aged mystic offered me the pipe again and the youngest told me to calm myself, let go of any inhibition and take comfort in my melancholy, “The moment you illusion yourself about the age of reason is merely the moment it is realised, not attained.”

I realised countless years, innumerable months, and immeasurable nights had been lain to waste parading my pretentious enlightenment when in truth I was only silently sinking myself deeper into the mires of irrationality and further away from reason, itself. My grief-stricken fears were gaining strength over me; I looked at the mystics helplessly, still unable to utter a word. The mideal aged mystic finally offered her insight, “You may still reach it but you must know no one knows when or how it can be reached, just that it can be and the journey will only continue from there to beyond and infinity.”

That one moment of finity bore more upon my existence than those countless past moments of infinity. Tears streamed down my face; indeed the unearthing of the false belief was heart-breaking but it was also heart-mending. The fabric of truth had wiped the slate of my soul clean; it was time to find new colours to write with.

After the Kapitän had rung the bell for departure, I kissed the hands of each mystic, not knowing how to thank them for showing me the path and offered them a welcoming home if they ever decided to visit Luvkrafteneim. I took one last whiff from the pipe, bid the mystics farewell and proceeded towards the ship.

Many colours have filled and washed off my slate since and I still wonder: Will I ever reach the age of reason?

I believe not.

Often I wonder ‘What is age in truth?’

How does one reach an age? It is a meaningless phrase; all know age cannot be reached, it just is; in fact, age is nothing but an acceptable understanding of time. It is only because our definition of time is constrained that our understanding of our age, and therefore our life too, is constricted. How does one know when they are born? Are we born inside the womb or outside it? We all have lived in our mother’s wombs, have we not? Ancient sciences have proved birth to be in contrast with the varying phases of the moon rather than the established cycle of day and night? If this holds true, does age depend on a limited number of lunar cycles? Anyhow, how long will one live, that certainly is uncertain.

It is an exercise in futility to believe in the importance of age, hence it is immaterial to believe in the exclusiveness of the ‘Age of Reason’. What may seem the age of reason may well be the age of folly. The only path to attain an age of reason is to journey with reason through the ages. The journey is important and not the destination. If only it had not turned blind to their great lessons, Carcosa would still be known and not be forgotten.

There is nothing to believe

Only when I quit believing in myself

Did I come to this beauty.

  • Anonymous


The mystics also told me, “Beliefs which leave us wanting for more stem from our ego.”

My failures in different stages of life have revealed to me that ego resides within us; it is not visible to the naked eye but only to ones aware of their inner eye. It cannot be destroyed or created but can only be channelised. Even the most enlightened mind can harbour an ego.

Just as we are manifestations of Consciousness on Earth, not Consciousness itself; need, greed, desire, pride, conceit, arrogance, stubbornness, fear, jealousy, and sometimes even happiness: all are manifestations of ego, not ego itself; they are symptoms which validate the existence of the otherwise overlooked ego.

Each of us undergoes a journey to discover our soul, its distinction from our physical body and that the soul does not have an ego, highlighting its needlessness for an identity and our pointlessness in desiring one. The ego embodies and identifies itself with our own being to the extent of duping us into believing its presence is but our own identity and hence, our great need and dilemma of establishing our own identity. We begin measuring our life’s goals through this identity and therein commences our yearning of our own personalities, our insatiability for our own possessions, our entitlement to our own personal spaces. Everyone has their own gauging scale but whose gauge is right? Mine or yours, his or hers, everyone’s or no one’s?

It is safe to conclude it is ego which fabricates belief, for now each one needs their own beliefs, morals, principles, values, ideologies, philosophies, faiths, dogmas, doctrines, vows, promises, securities, and what not merely to establish their identity; but we all forget: Identity cannot be established, it just is; there is identity even where there is none.

I may not know to what good must ego be used, but it should not be used to cause hurt to someone. But maybe I am wrong. Who knows?

Beliefs, once, were used to achieve the means of a satisfactory life, not epitomise the satisfaction itself. One does not need to quit the company of loved ones to achieve a good, happy life; it can be achieved therein too. Likewise, it is needless to occupy the company of loved ones to achieve that life; it can be achieved thereof too. It all depends upon the person and how reasonable their journey turns out to be.

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