In the following days I had some time to practice the assault and speak to one of the cultists they captured and tried their magic on.

He was in a haggard state and still suffering nightmares, but feeling better every day. The potion had saved him from the drowsy state he had been in, always thinking negatively and in a mundane sense that would keep him occupied with hate and disgust for life.

He described life to be like wielding loud instruments all day long that would clog his minds ability to think positively. As if he were in a lower state that had him seeking the release the medicine they made provided. A sort of yearning to feel depressed and miniscule.

They were building an army of beings that did not have any respect for themselves or one another – so that they could stop the need for evolving altogether. He explained that there is a basic need to expand one consciousness and that this lead to figuring out what path to take into yet another dream that would yield answers.

A never ending path of following ones desire. Gobbling up answer after answer to fulfil an addiction to becoming whole. In their philosophy there was no becoming whole again – there was only the daily routine of growing their medicine and listening to preaching over glasses of dowsing liquids.

He felt as if life was growing a seed inside him, taking his bodies minerals as its food to birth a being that can cope with just being itself and nothing more.

I see that what they are yearning for is contentment, but not through the means of ingesting answers but through becoming OK with how things are.

A futile life if you ask me – repetitively going after the ones that seek knowledge only to destroy it every day. Never finding happiness and only wallowing in hate speech for the ones that strive to live a life with greater and greater meaning.

Analysing the culture that they live in it reminds me of myself in the sense that I am also attempting to rise above my flaws, yet I do not have a prophecy that can guide me.

I feel a general discontentment with how I am and seek to be whole in much of the way the former nightmarish is seeking to escape from. Yet I try to adhere to the nature of the world I live in and simply flow with it. Not asking too much and not trying to settle for less than what it can provide.

I fear illusions that I conjure up myself about life, that blind me into acting in an insecure manner. I might be confident as long as I am distracted and have a plan before my eyes but once the world leaves I am left with myself and nothing to show for it besides a colorful introspective sphere that is the spiral.

The only place I can call my home – somewhere I always end up in and will never leave. Its like a bloody prison but also a harbour from which I journey into my adventures one doorway at a time.

The appearance of the cat makes it more homely and I do have to find out where that running blood is coming from. Yet these are quests for another day.

Looking at the place where the meeting will take place they have given me a perch from which I will spring onto the priest – he is usually accompanied by four armed guards that will stand at his sides.

The gooey solution that is meant to heal him smells fresh and feels rejuvenating in my nostrils when I smell it. They have taken me to where they produce it, far away in the jungle so that the smell does not travel into the noses of the nightmarish.

Tomorrow I will splash it onto the back of the priest and their war can have nothing to do with me anymore.