The False Tyrant of Somnia
A parable about the misunderstood role of consciousness
In a place not bound by maps or time, there exists the realm of Somnia—a living kingdom woven from breath and bone, instinct and thought. Here, every part of the body moves with its own sacred rhythm, its own ancient voice. The lungs chant breath-songs that rise and fall like ocean tides. The heart drums a steady beat remembered from the womb, echoing love, fear, longing. The gut, deep and tangled like an ancient forest, pulses with truths too old for language, too wise for logic.
In this realm, Emotion surges like a wild ocean spirit, crashing and calming without warning. Instinct roams as a quiet guardian of the woods, sensing dangers the eyes cannot see. Memory drifts like mist through hidden corridors, whispering stories even the ears forget.
And high above, in the crystalline Tower of Awareness, sits Conscius—a shimmering figure of light and thought, adorned with a fragile glass crown. His eyes are filled with questions, maps, illusions of order. He calls himself king. He believes he rules this place.
He believes the kingdom was made for him.
But he is mistaken.
For the realm breathes without him. It dreamed long before his arrival, and it will dream long after. The spirits of Somnia tolerate his rule out of curiosity, perhaps even compassion—but not obedience. When Conscius commands silence, the wind still howls. When he declares certainty, doubt dances just beyond the tower's reach.
He is not the ruler of Somnia.
He is its guest.
 |
| Within the Inner Kingdom, a young False Tyrant wears a fragile glass crown, unaware of the wild spirits who shape the soul’s true realm. |
For long before Conscius awakened, the kingdom had been thriving. Reflexia, the province of instinct, had leapt from danger before thought could form. Emotionis, the stormy isle, raged and wept and laughed with its own tides. The body was not a puppet—it was a living forest. A world with its own laws.
Conscius, however, shouted into the winds:
"I must know all! I must decide all! Obey me, for I am the mind!"
Yet the Bodylands stirred with subtle defiance. The spine did not wait for his orders to pull back from heat. The gut whispered truths long before he could reason. The heart often beat faster not from thought—but from feeling.
One day, a quiet traveler arrived. Her name was Equilibria, a soul of deep knowing. She offered Conscius a mirror, and within it he saw the truth—not a king, but a guest. Not a ruler, but a traveler walking alongside ancient allies.
“You are not here to command,” she said.
“You are here to listen, to learn, and to integrate. You are the youngest child of the system, not its master.”
From that day onward, Conscius stepped down from the throne. He did not vanish. He observed. He wove together the signals, the dreams, the instincts, the pulses. He became a bridge, not a dictator. A witness, not a tyrant.
And thus, the kingdom of Somnia grew more whole—not because the False Tyrant was defeated, but because he was transformed.
🌱 Author’s Note:
This story is a quiet reminder to all who read it—your consciousness is not your entire self. It is the part of you that observes, questions, narrates... but it is not the entirety of your being. Your breath, your heartbeat, your gut feelings, your emotional waves—they were here before your conscious awareness could name them.
Your brain, your emotions, your instincts—they are not your servants. They are ancient companions, and sometimes, they act with wisdom your consciousness cannot grasp right away. Learn to listen to them. Let your awareness be a guest who learns from the home it lives in.
No comments:
Post a Comment