There is something waiting to be born. Something wanting to be brought to life. And I keep searching. I keep trying new things, digging into another box, scripting my life away. Yet, that thing, that something that awaits won’t reveal itself. Am I not listening?
I’ve been searching with my head, jumping at every new hint. Have I been looking in all the wrong places? Have I been obscuring reality with distractions?
I’ve been ignoring all the signs. Now I know where the answers are. I know where that something is. And it’s buried safely in the darkest, scariest place. The only place I’ll avoid at all cost: me.
There is only one way: the one within.
I’ve been making friends with stillness for some time now. It’s been cordial, sometimes sweet. I thought we could leave it at that, until I realized that stillness, immobility, really scares the hell out of me. I love movement, I crave it. I confuse movement with “being alive.” All this air and space within needs to keep moving, or else…
Or else what? I’ll vanish. Stillness takes me as close to oblivion as I will ever get, on this side of the fence anyway.
My immobility, the part of me that doesn’t change, resides in the depths, in the place of nothingness. And I have to go there to meet it. I have to meet with immobility, and love it with all I’ve got until there is no love anymore, until there is nothing left.
F*cking feels like the edge of a cliff.