It slowly descends upon me like a darkness that threatens to stand in the way of the light that I seek to illuminate my elusive path through this devastatingly beautiful thing that is Life. I sit, alone, and all that once seemed so normal, so sensible, so complete becomes empty, a source of deep questioning, void of it’s own existence as I consider the futility of every thought that inhabits my brain and even my body.
Questions begin to rise up against my will. The Rational cross examines the Self Pity and questions the darkness. It asks why this is happening in the face of the progress that is sought. I want to feel the joy that the Rational Mind seems to feel, but can’t. I just can’t FEEL it. The muscles on my brow involuntarily furrow deeply as intangible arguments dance destructively inside. Notes on a guitar played by a long lost soul mate who I never knew and who cannot know me ring out through black holes on a plastic stand and I am lost in a current of strangely familiar sadness that I neither wish to fully embrace or stop in it’s tracks. I am unsure of everything. Memories of loves and loss, of victory and defeat, both recent and long gone drift through me with abandon and I wonder whether I am going to make it to the next day without letting the urge to completely lose myself in the Unreal absorb and consume me so that I am free from the prison that my own perception has created.
Tears fill my eyes. I don’t know what they mean. Or what causes them. Theories formulate themselves, as they always do, to attempt to make some kind of sense of the confusion that occupies the space where conditioned structure once lived without consideration or conflict. It is different now. A stringed melody plays inside my heart as it does outside it and a glorious second of Aliveness is experienced, only to die as quickly as it found life. A hanged man on a black background reminds me of the tragic comedy of it all. The mere attempt to express the experience has killed the experience itself.
A blind man stands alone in a crowd of people, unable to find his way home. Droves of lost drones wander slowly along a platform, quietly obsessing about how they can get onto the train to their daily dose of dissatisfaction before anyone else. No one stops to help the blind man. No one stops. If they did, they would feel the loneliness of the blind man. They would feel their own loneliness. They might even cry on their way home and acknowledge their own humanity. Tomorrow, they would have to stop to help the blind man, no longer ignorant and passive. They would no longer have a choice but to be human.
A moment lives inside memory and becomes it’s own destructive life force. A quiet churning is in motion deep inside, and a combination of sounds, words on a phone screen, and images on the television create an indefensible attack on the carefully created structure that keeps the demons at bay.
Words become empty. Objects become remote. The brain continues to writhe around in anguish, searching desperately for some kind of meaning that will put it all inside a neat box that makes sense. That eliminates the chaos. That stops the growth of the feeling, deep inside, that the chaos is the reality. And that the structure that has allowed a stagnant comfort for so many long years is an illusion, created by the Self in an act of desperate protection. The neat box will stop the feeling from churning away inside. It will stop the realisation that it is all Unreal. That it is an illusion; your mindless adoption of the Creations of Others. It is all the words of others, the behaviour of others, the truth of others. Not your own.
The box doesn’t exist once you have allowed yourself to destroy it.
Welcome to Freedom. It is a vast expanse, full of possibility, potential, and darkness.
Once you’ve jumped, there’s no going back. Once the churning begins, there’s no stopping it from rising to the surface.
From taking over. From keeping your eyes open.
This is how it feels to have your eyes open. Loss, confusion, and the deep hope that the way will become illuminated as long as you just keep on believing. And keep walking.
You know, in the core of your being, that it is your job to keep walking. Not to give in and take the safe way out. Escape is the easy road.
Notes on a guitar continue to play, filling my heart. Twenty minutes have passed. Everything is just the same.
It’s all okay.