Redeemer

I met once a man on the street. He was in bad condition. Our glimpses met and I suddenly knew of his secret. Every unit has a Mystery behind. Our genre, Homo sapiens, creates culture, stories, imaginative worlds, and myths. In our DNA we transfer perchant for letters, philosophy, and fairytales. These are archetypes. Such species as our junctions deep false bottom to every action in reality. The most fascinating and commonly welcome in literature are LOVE and DEATH. I recognize that sometimes they are combined. That gives a very dramatic sense of the notion. Like in Jacek Malczewski paintings, where a beautiful young woman with a scythe closes the eyes of the poor old man. This Demon, Death, takes many forms and shapes. Most common is taken from Medieval. It is the skeleton or dead corpse. But sometimes it is a Fair Lady. Death is very powerful and “she” masters all living things. How could I not see “her” in the eyes of that poor man? This delicate touch of Demon so demanded by him. Those who suffer welcome “her” with gratitude. Picturing the Last Thing as Lover, as the Ultimate Destiny, creates some visions. Love has the ability to change things, takes “her” followers to another dimension. This man loved his Redeemer. It was one of the precious moments when human enclosures other of his own genre. The blessed feeling of pityness, understanding other's soul deeds. Image of Death as Lover came into my mind with a flash. In the city center, crowded with people and this man just passing by. We did say nothing. Nothing was to say. Only pure awareness of the mythological fact found in the shelter of mind. Vagabond with no purpose in life. Human being destitute from hope. Yet, the purity of the most maiden affection still existed inside. And it adopted in the sofisticated image of the Lover. Final, the Only One, the Purest and the only Real. In this world of intermingled conceptions.