Like a little bodied statue I stare at the ceiling. One of many ceilings and walls I’ve faced and knocked down, this one refuses to move, it refuses to let me through. I let go and decide to just lay there, maybe now I see the big picture, maybe now I see the truth. Maybe this ceiling is keeping me from completely fading away and losing touch.
I trace my thoughts back but I have none, I have gotten too good at quieting my mind, I have become stronger and less concerned with my body. The dread remains however. The unyielding and unrelenting need to belong somewhere to something to someone, and to feel infinite remains like the strongest emotion, the most powerful thought to ever exist. I cannot come to grips with mortality, not yet.
I stare still and remain in my body, feeling an utmost safety in it, fearing the thought of ever losing it. Fearing the day that I let it go and crack the ceiling. Why is there no infinity right here and now? Why can we not have that? Is that the biggest ego of all? To want it forever? To have continuous return? Why is it excruciatingly painful and dreadful to be so close mortality and still refuse to see it?
Is this the highest feeling of love? Is it the newfound appreciation to every spirit surrounding yourself that gives you the courage to do this? Gives you a purpose and a light? How much have we forgotten to be able to be here today? How much are we blinded from that let’s us sleep at night and not crawl back to our mothers.
I find my dark friend laying next to me, and together we look up at the ceiling. We hold eachother, I comfort him with my hope and with my light, while he confronts me with the truth: my mortality and everyone else’s, and our never ending pursuit of a single extra moment of being awake and breathing together.
New steps everyday, nightmares every other night; it gets better though and that is the point. It never ends, that familiar wandering yet the inescapable reality of being lost. Everything around is in motion and you will not allow yourself to be the only flaw in the system so you dive in neck deep and try to let yourself go.
Maybe all this wandering is bound to lead somewhere magnificent at least I really hope so. Secretly everything I want is placed in that magnificent prospect. Secretly I want to sell all reality and risk every emotion for magic and make believe. Secretly I believe in it all.
Well there go my secrets but that is not a problem, why submerge my self in fantasy alone? People around me just look ahead as though they are not pleading for attention or kindness or help. It’s just sad that the first reaction to any symptom of niceness is real shock. Maybe being invisible is everyone’s problem and when they are seen it draws fear and confusion within them. Maybe we are so alike that it terrifies us.
I try to walk fast and maintain everyone else’s pace so I don’t get run over, but what I discovered is that when I decide to slow down someone around me has to as well, and it’s not a bad thing. One gesture, one step, one initiation can be all it takes for one person among the masses to be found and seen. That is never a bad thing.
Everything in my head always sounds better than it might in reality and I don’t mind that because it’s what I need. It’s what I want. Whether the world listens or not is not my problem. Whether it gives me what I want is also no longer my problem. I have my world I have my rules I have my truth and also my lies. Whatever I can make or create with those is what matters because it all starts with your own mind.
So there is always the surface and depth. The world is the surface and your mind is depth. Whatever you construct on the inside is bound to pop up somewhere in your life. It’s up to us what we believe, regardless if I came up with this on a subway ride or not.
The force of creation thrusts within your body as you run towards peace of mind. You focus on the burn as your muscles contract and you gain speed and push further. There is no end to this race except the break of your breath. The mind shuts off as percussion intensifies and your breath deepens. All the disturbed elements of your body systemically unite to form a functioning whole. You are in control of yourself as foreign as it seems. Mind drowned by flesh and you love it.
So this run becomes a habit, a newly found tool helping you gather your composure, in a world thoroughly out of control.
This place seems to be the only comfort zone i have left. Everything else is uprooted, destroyed, faded or broken. Nothing remains in the end of a really bad day but my words and my mediocre self expression skills. Nothing remains but a late night battle with well earned self loathing and canned aggression towards everything i stand for. Everything i preach in words and silver lined rythms is a product of my destroyed and mythical imagination.
I write and i put words together in attempts of comforting my long lost mind, in hope of regaining faith in the beauty i see every once in a while, In aims of distracting my damaged excuse of a dream. I dont know, i really never knew as much as i don’t know now. I almost lose touch with my senses, my cravings and my motives.
When my escape is my home, and my home has generated into the escape, my entire world is shifted, twisted and upside down; and no one complicates things as professionally as me. I am the master of labels and definitions, but when it comes to sorting out my own mess, i simply drive myself mad enough to an extent where i give myself material to write about. Instead of actually fixing what needs to be dealt with i submerge my coward self into a pit of mind draining logic, and heart wrenching drama. I end up with a pathetic justification of words and excuses, of emotions and thoughts that really do not make sense.
And so just because human ears and human compassion can only go so far, i decide to practice my linguistic, lyrical and passive sport of one ended conversations with this blank, dull page here.
No where, no one and nothing will ever comfort you when you are in need, at least not fully. When we break, no matter how eloquently we express it, we are broken. And nothing broken is as good as new, not in this world we live in. So whatever soothing and calming words you can offer yourself, do that, tell yourself that you are ok. Tell yourself that you are strong. Tell yourself that beauty is still waiting outside your window, except right now your vision is blurry and your mind is uncertain. Tell your self that the lack of comfort is the reason you are blind to any form of beauty tonight. Tell yourself that tomorrow is a new day, and the sun always shines, every day. Find comfort in the eternity of that process and draw the peace you need for sleep from the longing you feel for such certainty.
The sun will rise tomorrow, and so will you. All will heal when you allow yourself to say the few words you avoided by writing all that.