One night Iím turning into something I hate, the next night I allow myself freedom, and even I can be horrified at the results.
The Embrace has not helped me overmuch. It was not the gift that Michael assured me it was. It may have enabled my continued existence, but what kind of existence is this? I canít even find a method of expression that keeps me amused for more than a few months...I suppose Iíll be going back to Gariano, as I always have before, but even that palls. Kneebreaking isnít what it used to be. Perhaps I should return to Central America, or Africa perhaps. Thereís a glorious disregard for human rights in a few parliament cellars there.
But what will that leave me? Bloody memories and a bad taste in my mouth. And the need to continue. Iím sure I used to have moments of peace, but my needs have been getting worse, more insistent as time passes.
There are times, during our gatherings, that I want to lash out at anyone and everyone, regardless of my feelings for them. Even Bob, a person I used to trust, has been assessed as a target by my colder self. The only thing that holds me back is the knowledge that any witnesses would over-react. Nothing that I could do to the Kindred could cause permanent damage to them, yet still they fear it. Why? Itís only pain, and all pain can be survived eventually. I should know. So should they, it would expand their narrow little minds.
Of course, only some of us could survive that style of enlightenment.
I know the others resent the wisdom that our broader point of view brings to us. They have some rather negative names for it, but all it is is seeing clearly. All the intefering filters that cause misinterpretation have been removed. We can see the soul and true motives of anyone. Our most astute psychologists were insane. The ones that didnít were frauds, and merely imitated their betters.
There is no such thing as knowledge we werenít meant to know, but only some of us can even find it, let alone understand it. Itís our duty to ensure this information is never abused, or falls into untutored hands...
But there is a loss. I cannot trust anyone any more, not even my dearest so-called friends. I know of the greed and hate that motivates all humans, and that given the chance, they would use all around them to their own ends. And I would do the same to them, but I know this, I know it on a conscious level, and can use such energies to the benefit of myself and others. For others, such needs are only apparent in their lazy dreams and fuzzy fantasies - they cannot examine themselves as I do.
The knowledge I carry, this burden, chafes on my soul and angers me. I can feel it when I suffer that urge to strike out at strangers on the street, or associates at a gathering. The knowledge feeds my anger, and the anger increases my needs. I should control it, but I canít. I try to release it, to lessen the burden, but it only grows back, smug and strong. I cannot share the knowledge that causes this rage, nor can I share the rage. Iím trapped.
And the pain I can cause, my one talent and gift to humanity, can bring those hidden motives - the dreams and fantasies - up to the light of consciousness, and force a person to understand their own soul. Itís such a shame so few of them can survive that. Confronted with their own ugliness, they snap and flee, to death or mental chaos - whichever is easier for them to acheive.
Ignorance is, indeed, a form of strength to those who are so weak.