Can you hear the lost symphony of an empty orchestra?
I ask the man in the mirror. He stares at me with the same expressionless expression, that I feel on my face. The numbness has made itself at home in my head. I was never at a loss for words. The thoughts still swim in my head, but I can never feel them they way I used to. An empty shell, an empty orchestra. De-tuned instruments. I was stuck. And stuckness felt like home. But I knew that I have to leave home if I was to ever grow up and claim my life.
I am condemned to be free in every way I possibly can. Yet I solicit all sorts of ways to flee and distance myself from this freedom. In my journey of a spiritual nexus, I have stopped and almost claimed myself unworthy for the journey. A part of me cannot comprehend why I do this to myself. I hate having to cope with the dark side of being me. Every thought, every feeling and every idea is fragile – and before i can grasp them and convert them into words so that I can better understand myself, an unsettling inertia sets in and I’m left back at the start, with nothing.
I need redemption from this prison I created. Freedom does not feel so free now. Everything that tasted sweet is tasteless now. There’s always a cloud looming over my head, waiting.. waiting to claim my thoughts. I’m consumed inside this dream.
I can’t feel anything anymore.
I don’t know why or what instigated my path to who I am today but my youth was filled with moments where I repeatedly learnt to sabotage my true potential and hideout in a naturally reflexive way. It’s something that came naturally, even when I tried to fight it, I ended up losing to myself and being submissive. My shadow, my fear was merely being visible to the world.
Throughout my whole life, I have never felt free to be who I really was, to feel what I felt, to desire what I desired and to pursue what my nature intended. I became armoured against myself. Until I lost who I was forever. I was trying so hard not to be me at all, that I forgot who I really am. Now I’m lost, wandering aimlessly in my head, searching for an answer. And all the answers I do find are never satisfying, leaving me standing in front of more questions, still searching in vain.
You wake up one day and realize you are not part of your life. The life you lived does not belong to you. Your body is not, your frame of mind is not. There is your life, just living itself and you are just watching from the sidelines. Watching yourself merely exist. And it is then when you stand before this unabashed mirror of truth, that you see who you really are.
Not perfect. Not complete. Not content.
The perfectability of man is God’s bad joke. And nobody gets it until its too late.
There’s a question in your mind. You want to know who I am. But how can I tell you who I am when I don’t know who I am, and I bet you don’t know who you are either. We believe in a reflection called a mirror. But is there a mirror or a glass to see how others really see you. Because maybe they know you better than you know yourself. Or maybe not, because we hardly portray who we are to the world.
But then how can we ever see who we really are? Aren’t we an ever changing sphere, rotating in different axes trying to achieve the perfect balance. The equilibrium that we can call home. I used to be that way too. But each axis I stepped onto was lopsided and crooked and I kept losing whatever balance I was trying to gain. That’s when I realized that this was an absolute fucking joke. This life we value. This life we strive so hard to achieve and succeed. There is no end, only a never ending journey. And the balance, it doesn’t exist. It never did. Everything is broken in some way, every body is cracked in their own way.. and perfection may only be in the stars above, which we’ll never reach (at least not in this lifetime). But we can’t be certain of this.
So why fucking search for this non-existent balance, this myth. Why not be satisfied with the perfect disequilibrium that we are. Why not? It’s fun. Being cracked, being broken. If I was not broken, in anyway I doubt that I’ll be writing this. Why do I need to? Perfection needs nothing. It already has everything it needs. If I was perfect, I wouldn’t need you. I wouldn’t need all the things I have. I would need nothing. I could be nothing. For I am perfect.
To be nothing.. what does that sound like?
It sounds easy. Convince yourself, call it reverse engineering to reach perfection. Achieve the perfect disequilibrium to reach the goal of being nothing. If you are already nothing, then you achieved. Maybe that was the point all along. Learn to let go. Of everything. Because the end of a chapter is always looming, and there’s is no point after that because you have to assume a different identity in the next chapter. So maybe letting go is what we should be doing? Being nothing. Losing all sense and hope that we have.
Just.. letting.. go.
Wouldn’t you feel free?
Would you like to try?
I remember my body hitting the sand as I fell backwards. I remember making no move to get up. I remember the velvet of the midnight blue sky turning red. I remember the clouds forming faces laughing at me. I was on numb on a soft bed of sand. I was vulnerable. Yet I was free. Now I lived a free life, but I could never seek redemption inside my head. All my avenues of escape led me back to where I began, and which begrudgingly I learned to call my home.
Today the chaos has receded and the sweet smell of escape has overpowered me. It took hold of me and pushed me to the ground. Lightning coloured the sky for a few seconds. The world was turning. Life was changing. Reality became different and I took a step further than any other day. New perceptions were placed in my eyes, but the color was changing fast. I failed to catch nothing but a quick glimpse of what was in store for me. The shadows hung up the stars again and I was left alone on the sand by a thousand angels. I have never come this close to the light. I have never come so fucking close.
And then just as it had begun, it ended. Without warning everything was back to normal, back to plan, back to concept. I started to forget the little things that mattered. The little things. Only a matter of time till I forget how long just a little goes. I become what I hated once again. There is no cure for this. I am me again. A fucking monster.