The least but not the last

The essential things are matters of heart and soul. One can write without mind, praise the elevated state of her soul, and in the end it is nothing but foolishness. Child can play with sand and built a castle, think she is a princess and develop into that form, but in the end of the day she is once more just a child fearing dark.

In the midst of a community, what it takes to survive? Playing mindgames is an option. I used to dream of beautiful, happy people and all the kind words that would address to me. I love to play mindgames. Fascinates me. Make me feel I can escape the reality, raise up high and reach freedom. I love to play with words.

Words drop into my consciousness like tears drop onto my bed. One tear does not make a cry, like one word does not make a story. But i've kept crying for a decade, and am ready to tell a story. It's a sad, sad story of a world deathly and cruel. And so it begins:

Once upon a time this accident called "The Least" happened. The Least was the one suitable to carry all the hatred and hostility of her environment. She was never like the others, entitled to push back, state her mind and call out an opinion. She was the one to confirm, agree, and admire the strong.


But the Least knew a path into the beauty. The beauty was her freedom. Every time she accessed the secret world she knew one day everything would be just all right. She let the angels sing and stars to shine, birds to fly and ants to built. Everywhere she registered the genius of the beauty, and she thought all of it was fascinating.


When the Least was finally old enough to leave the cruel environment she could not imagine those people would follow her where ever she would go. She traveled far but those people, their voices and the threat always followed her as those people would be the constructs of her mind, built-in within her. They kept laughing at her, calling her names, torturing her, day and night.


One day the whole construction of her mind collapsed. Then she started crying and she has kept crying ever since. The Least am I and I am about to blog about the things I love and the things I hate. I love to play with words like a child loves to play with legos. Telling you all this, it's time for me to take a nap, listen to music telling of beauty, cry a tear or two and fall asleep.