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.
And so the day ends, you walk over to a porcelain white sink and you blink once. You blink again and the person staring back at you has not changed. You look deeper into a reflection you have learned to classify as being you, yourself, one person, one mind, one soul, a single beating heart. What a burden of singularity yet a liberation by its mortality. Has anybody ever stared at this exact reflection in the thousands of years that have passed? Or are you as one person a creation so new, well preserved for a single birth and a limited number of breaths? Has the sound in your own head ever been heard in somebody else’s? You draw your face closer to the mirror as you examine features you have learned to overlook at times yet obsess over at other times. This is possibly the weirdest situation : staring so hard at yourself that you reach a point where you can’t see how your internal persona matches that external foreign body. A stranger emboddied so mutually curious and awe struck by you. A minute passes, maybe even an hour; perhaps an entire night. All you know is that everytime you blink a genuine feeling of serenity accompanies the lightness of opening your eyes to a sameness and stillness of well defined functional features. Your own, for you, that body belongs to you and it is you. What a disturbingly capturing idea. Such a simplicity, so direct, so automatic you never thought it through.
Cold porcelain under your tight fingers awakens your wandering brain to a swift innocence of childlike humor. You blink and this time, the stranger smiles back at you with precious recognition, an acknowledgement of 21 years of comradery. Possibly the most absurd and equally profound realization you’ve ever had.
You splash your face with water and sarcastically think to yourself “damn im deep”.