There is an ultimate determination about the status of being human which I like to remind myself every time I tend to deliver (part of) my meaning to someone or something else out of me. To an external representation of pleasure, happiness, purpose.
This normally comes with a bitter taste at the back of my tongue, inundating the whole experience of my existence in a mere space of a couple of seconds.
When I truly think about the condition of being nothing but just a spotless human, I can’t just pretend I eventually don’t feel that chill wind blowing into the core of my bones.
It takes me one minute to step away from a mellow projection of my desires to see what is left after the invisible spiked fence. Between what I see as individual despite the banquet prepared by the universe, for me. To be so honest for telling my high expectations, sometimes borderline with a sensation of perfection or goddess-like, from the miserable truth.about how much we are able to build and destroy just inside our own mind.
How much are we able to build and destroy just inside our own mind?
Oh, those marvelous mornings, when nothing but infinite power of creativity and physical capability of conquering anything I want, just grab me and make me their victim!
At the very end of that long road of ours, which we can travel following our desires or uncomfortably grope for an external sign as we are unable to face our own gut, there is nothing really much to meet.
I believe it is just a journey which we may sense as fair in the exact measure through which we will be able to forget about it as we walk along.
For the more we act and we live in the moment, the more we will be pushed to an oncoming reality which loses its sense of parallelism with either what will be or what has already been.
Especially in these last couple of months, where I have found myself unexpectedly, beautifully caught by feelings of love and partnership, it is when absurdly, I have come to the realization that it is all and always about the individual.
The joy and the pain given by a strong emotional experience will surely mark our cognizance by the fact that we are sharing a part of us in an intimate way with another being.
Yet, the perception I have is that regardless of the intensity felt or of the terms established within the parts, a feeling of finite rules unconditionally.
Orson Welles jumps inside my brain, singing aloud
We’re born alone, we live alone, we die alone. Only through our love and friendship can we create the illusion for the moment that we’re not alone
I want to enjoy all that is to be found in-between for as long as it will last.
Nothing is permanent, after all. Maybe not even the longevity of this post into the consciousness of the writer…