I Am Mad

Am I real,
I'm not so sure.
Is any of it real,
I couldn't really say.
Are they all just players in my game,
Are they all just here for me.
Without me, would any of this be here. 
Am I everything,
Am I the reason.

Am I trapped in a moment of time,
Experiencing reality-time as linear,
Will death bring release,
Or just another chapter,
A new imagination.

I am something very unique,
I am something terrible,
If you knew what I know,
You'd be frightened.
As I am,
Sometimes.

I'm losing my mind.
I really am.
And the more I lose it, the better I feel. 

You must lose your mind, to find your soul. And when you find your soul, you will find yourself, you will find you, and when you do, you will find yourself better off without your mind.
You will happily lose it.
And your soul will show you why you don't need to worry about losing it.

The mind is mouldable, impressionable, programmable.
The soul is not.
The mind is a tool, the soul is the user.
You can lose your mind, but you can never lose your soul.

And when you reach the end of the universe, you see that it is just a tiny little pebble, sitting at the base of a mountain, in a mountain range the size of God-like proportions.
Then you realise that every electron is a reality, going through its cycles.
And then you realise that you are god, and it feels good.
You can actually feel it.
You know what it is.

The mind holds back the soul.
It has been programmed to do so.
The wars, the greed, the hatred.
The mind is a tool for us to use, and we use it so we can know.
But the soul is who we are.
If the soul ruled the world, we wouldn't know the word war or the word greed. 
We would only know equality.
Everything we would do, would be based upon equality.
And love.

You are all weak.
You think strength, is making money. You are weak.
You are liars. 
Your lives are built on lies.
You cannot even acknowledge the lies that you are. You need them so much.
So it's all about money, is it.
Really?
How thin the veneer really is.
How transparent it all really is.
How shallow you all are.
Doormats and donkeys.
Liars and thieves.
Dancers being told how to dance.
Dance children. Dance.
Just keep dancing.
And maybe, just maybe, you can avoid, for the length of your lives, the mirror of your soul. 
You know, your soul (the truth that frightens you all so much)
Pathetic and soft and weak, 
With your weapons in your hand, and your excuses in your mouth.
Pathetic. Soft. Weak.
How far down this road are you prepared to walk?
How blind do you want to become?
What makes you good?
The coins you drop into the charity box?
Go drop your coins in your charity boxes, go watch your little stories. 
Keep twitching your curtains.
Keep telling your lies.
Keep counting, and recounting your money.
It's what you are. 
It's who you are.
It's what you want.
You are weak.
So very, very weak.

And you know it.

I don't make the decisions, 
I decide.
I didn't make everything,
That is beneath me.
I am not god,
I am.
And when I say jump, 
You have no choice.

He is god, He is weak, I am not.
I am love, 
And so are you.

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