A doorway opened into a beautiful white stream of light, powerful and distracting. The beauty of this white light was beyond words; it stole your breath longer than the silent ecstatic bliss of eternal silence. Nothing could be heard but for the sweet melancholic lapse of trillions of souls making their way back to the source of light that was forever forsaken to those who still took breath in the physical world. There was so much color and life within each and every single strand that made up the collage of harmonics vibrating reality into a bazaar of foreign experiences and inspirational journeys. The smells were out of this world; the sweet scent of first love breaking the dawn of day, the musky sensation of attraction breeding its way through the crowds, the sharp pinch of jealousy and anger charring the tips of life’s ever sweet lips.

It was chaotic, people were everywhere; a whirlwind of interconnecting pathways scattering against a scenic backdrop that gave the mess a name and a purpose. Some gave it a name so exotic it could barely be pronounced, others used a vocabulary that curled its way around your lips, others still, gave no name at all– they were satisfied with simply being. The names grew vast and encompassing; however, the true purpose remained the same. The true purpose was the reason the snapshot of reality existed at all. It was the true underlying foundation that could disappear in a wisp of smoke faster than the thought could articulate such a sudden demise. Life was fragile and beautiful at the same time. It was unique, ever growing like a plant reaching out of the soil towards the bright light above the canopy.

It was the World as they knew it– for every second that passed was another open doorway for a slightly different breed of existence. Time was a constantly evolving chimera, capable of snatching the life of any one of its inhabitants. However, even something as powerful as time could stumble across a moment where it ceases to exist– sudden and abrupt. The snapshot could only exist if there were elements that contrasted against the eternal white light. Imperfection can only breed imperfection. Deliberate imperfection was the true currency of existence– perfectly ironic and yet beautiful in every possible way.

At first there was a single white globe of light falling endlessly in a sea of darkness. In the next instant there were thousands of them, grouping together and morphing into the faces of happiness, anguish, peacefulness, and disgust. The muscles in the face grew tired and they soon separated into two distinct groups. These groups formed greater societies and structures and soon found themselves split into four. The ever morphing nature of the lights kept raising consciousness and spreading itself deeper into the ethers like a trickle of water governed by a force it would never come to know. Once a seed was planted it could do nothing more than create another failed attempt and continue trying to prolong its existence through imperfect stepping stones across a dark expanse more desolate than the nostalgic soul. Every step was another leap of faith– a white spark in the darkness that sprung from place to place, its conviction was stronger than faith. It was trying to find something that did not exist in the places it was searching. It kept going nonetheless.

The white globe of light eventually looked back and found a bazaar had sprung up in its wake. It is fascinating what springs up in the footsteps of the journeys of others. Hawkers selling cheap wares that left none to the imagination, merchants trading in energy so profound it was nearly unbelievable, respectable stores so grand that their glass domes were hidden in the clouds, and con-artists so good you might actually think they weren’t there. There were streets with crowds so packed you would think you could take something here with you. Just around the corner, behind the manifestation boutique, was a dark alley where the stones were slightly upturned and the cold stench of self-preservation hung heavy in the air. The crowd here was solemn and dark, they traded on their own currency and seldom ventured out of their own constructs.

You could find anything in this bazaar; good and bad, magick that would make you think twice, light that came from an unnatural source and vanished the next day, tricks that burst in a spectacular movement of fire– to then find out all your valuables were gone, there was even a pop-up store that traded wrong intentions for a clean slate more rigid than the spine in Hell’s back. The bazaar was alive– filling with increasing color every single moment, growing in size out of proportion with the supply and demand. The bazaar was home to more shades of light than a comet trail fading into the darkness of an ever escaping Sun. The blend of sights, smells, and color soon melted into the anchors of the soul and it was left floating just above a city in the middle of nowhere.

As the light of day began to fade, the shadows creeped further along the constructs of statues erected in one’s honor. Those that dwelt in the bazaar came out from behind closed doors and lit fires in heavy brass bowls to turn an innocent city into a dark maze that enthralled the nightlife with a small taste of ecstatic bliss. You could immerse yourself in an escape so beautiful that you almost felt guilty, meet the most stimulating personalities that drew you back time and time again, you could become captured in a dream so powerful it would take over your waking life. You could lose it all, have everything disappear under a tide of karmic debt, run aground of normality and find yourself staring at the bare essentials. It was the ultimate gamble taken every single moment. They didn’t care! They were having too much fun.

When the light began to crack the horizon once more, the fires were blown out and all that was left in the bazaar was the hazy incense of pure pleasure and broken dreams. As the light grew brighter, mystical beings came back to walk the streets of day. Others followed in their wake; the migration for the early morning prayer to heal their sins welcomed a new beginning. The bazaar would always see the new dawn of day. Even if it didn’t, no one would be there to observe it differently. Slowly by slowly the bazaar would fill with more life, the crowds would return and the bustling activity would weave its way in a pattern denser than the thickest fabrics.

The bazaar would incite so many emotions from a simple whiff of air– love, hate, greed, acceptance, enrichment– it sparked your interest in the most wonderful way. Most captivating were the familiar faces you never thought you knew; the homely tea stand with the sweet old couple you could have sworn were your family from another life, the group of children running through the crowd shouting and playing in the water fountain up the road. The advent of another unexpected coincidence; the synchronicity that was telling a tale deeper than what it had you believe. The bazaar was home, and you wouldn’t trade it for the world.

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