The Lost Codex
There isn’t a whole lot worth being forsworn
Other than the decision to break the oath we never knew we took
“I’ve had a strong urge to go back into the past and wonder what kind of oaths I unintentionally made & consequently broke or commitments reneged.
I didn’t really ever take any… or so I think.
Maybe I did.
Maybe I didn’t.
The compounding interest of time within the walls of this modern reality claims my memory.
I cannot go back into myopic recesses & find anything of archeological value that would bring light to my past convictions.
I was just a kid. I still am still childish.
If I had made a promise to a God,
or some higher plane of existence,
that I bind myself to its mechanics of manifestation with an offering of fortitude, the mind would just as easily prefer to forget such a promise, than to remember its usage or endure to the end, & see it through.”
This is a prologue of spiritual commitment.
It supersedes this impending idea of Form & Function.
These two are not a dichotomy.
They’re not an either-or,
but they aren’t purely isolated aspects either.
They are treated as a pair. Interdependent aspects of the same thing… a tension, or continuum.
Different designs in life lean more toward functional efficiency or toward expressive & aesthetic form… but never purely one or the other.
Its often said: “form follows function”
The object’s shape should be dictated by its intended purpose.
“some grand design in me had it wrong?”
I’ve begun to question whether we perceive this connection correctly…
Or if such a certainty — a marinated pride from our human contextualization — has ever truly governed a piece of this world.
Our youthful consciousness determinations an illusory fiction we then unanimously agree upon, to give shape to our perceptions of logic.
From my own forgetting of purposeful pursuit, by my own denouncing of infantile resolve from times long past, I see it differently now.
The form of a thing doesn’t discover its use…
but grants it legitimacy,
by the way it appears.
It’s what earns its belief.
Belief, like breath to a flame, gives the object its true purpose.
If you don’t truly believe it.
You’ll never truly see it.
…We don’t trust the divine because we’ve seen it move.
…It is trusted when we know it wears the right robes.
…We succumb to pressure not because it is right
…but because it bears the form of something inevitable.
Maybe that’s where my forgotten oaths are buried
They aren’t in the actions I never took, or the choices I couldn’t make…
They’re hiding in the shapes I conformed to, the convincing shadows that I believed as reality.
It was the way I stood still,
petrified…
When I should’ve broken a pattern.
How I nodded…
When rituals required my silence, & devout contemplation.
In the way I dressed like a son,
a true believer,
a real scholar,
& thus
I became none of those things… or a deceitful form of all of them…
… without a real choosing to.
Form validated me.
This made the byproduct of my illegitimate function… inescapable.
I am encircling something deeply mythic, an alchemical cycle, that our unspoken retreat routes our defeated armies into.
forgetting is self-preservation, remembering is self-actualization
The true transformation occurs when I dare to embody an old oath in the armor of a new form.
It is my metamorphic re-entry into a forgotten contract,
forged again in fire,
but this time with intentionality and the scars of knowing, acting as the collateral security.
Only now, decades later, I see that my amnesia was not accidental.
It was mercy.
A protective erasure granted to a younger self— a boy not yet ready to carry…
the full weight
of the fire he flirted with.
The memory of the oath
if there was one
hid itself…
…In the layers of my becoming,
It’s not that it lacked real meaning, but because hardened meaning necessitates strength…
to bear without breaking.
To remember too soon: cripple me.
To remember too late: render me useless.
But to remember now…
…In these cavernous wastelands where fear & fatigue wrestles with anger & confusion…
…Just might show
The only doorway left…
To transformation.
We don’t forget our promises by accident. They’re simply chosen not to be dug up
We are afraid they’ll accuse us.
Fearful that they will remind us
of what we could have been
Had we been braver,
stronger,
Valid.
We dread the excavation
We KNOW the earth will not give them back UNCHANGED.
They will come up… a mutagenic contagion…
gnarled with time, sour with silence,
demanding…
recompense.
And that…
…. is the beginning of your reformation.
IT IS NOT A SIN to have forgotten!
ONLY A TRAGEDY not to return!
SO RETURN.
Not merely with reminiscent nostalgia,
but with fine-grade tools.
With teeth.
& heart. 💛
Go meet your buried promise with a new body
shapeshifted by survival
mutated by pain
adaptogenic from resilience
& so it is thus:
form validates function.
The function doesn’t dictate what I’ve become
I choose to alchemize a new form
in order to serve that purpose.
I am now the strongest vessel —forged from fragments— Stitched together by memory & will.
No longer that bent & broken one before…
I am what arose from his obliteration.
In this service… I find synthesis.
Skillset aligned with sector.
Instinct coordinated with direction.
Reason harmonious from purpose.
It’s not return to what was,
but a transformation into what always waited beneath…
Buried.
Patient.
Burning.
End transmission log**
Codex Fragment\ Elias Vey, circa 2077
[Post-Silence. Dates by the world data collapse calendar]
Thanks for listening! I appreciate all comprehensions of each piece. If you attained a bit of light in the upstairs attic, please, share your thoughts in the comments as it pertains to you. Like, follow, subscribe, and all that stuff that makes the good merry-go-round machine work.
Any penny to the coffee cup below helps me further unclog mental befuddlement for us all, & work on my expansive sci-fi narrative more.
Until next time.
This is dense in the best way—introspective, mythic, and quietly unsettling. The idea that forgotten oaths live in the forms we conformed to, not the actions we took, really lands. It feels like a true reckoning, not with the past, but with how belief shapes becoming.
You've agreed to follow a path. You have a job to do, to endure. If you don't do your duty, the next generation will.
When your guardian starts paying attention to the next generation, it pays less attention to you, and your fortunes fail. Luck reverses. You have forsaken your duty and your guardian is no longer by your side, but has begun watching for the one who will come next and pickup where you left off. But you can return to the path, acknowledge the covenant, fulfill your duty and endure to the end. Do not deny, forget, or ignore your conscience like you did before you became strong enough to shoulder the burden. You are reborn.