Why should I write if not to reveal the soul?
The soul is a universe unto itself, an infinite space of possibilities. Here, dreams coalesce into amorphous nebulae, some of which will gather enough mass to solidify and ignite; a few of those will burn furiously, leaving brilliant, indelible scars to remind you of the beauty that once was.
These magnificent lights fill us with awe, but they are surrounded by darkness. Failed dreams scatter the light of their successful brethren; black holes devour it. And throughout the universe lies that which cannot be seen but which silently impels us towards what we desire, even to the point of self-destruction.
Rarely do we study the underlying forces that roil our passions, so the workings of this dark matter may seem mysterious. Even under intense scrutiny, this first mover of the psyche may defy comprehension, but when we examine it with special tools and methods, we find that its nature is shocking and the breadth of its influence astounding.
Perhaps what is most disturbing of all is that its very purpose is to blind us to our own nature. We conveniently shroud within it any parts of ourselves we do not wish to see, and we feed to it the suffering we do not wish to feel. Feed it too well, however, and it will expand until it smothers the light of still-burning desires; if its mass becomes too great, the entire universe will darken and cool.
But what is this invisible matter that subtly guides our actions in powerful and unpredictable ways, driving us to shine or implode? This question compels me to write; if it haunts you as well, then bring your starlight and we will step into the darkness together.