At some point, no matter how hard you run, it becomes impossible to escape
the things that need to be done. In my virtual reality, I was panting though I
hadn’t been running. I had never been this out of breath nor felt this
suffocated before. The feeling in my throat was like…like a burning liquid
being poured through my lungs and the strangest part was I didn’t even know it.
I was blind as well, and I was numb. I knew the numbness was from repeatedly
undergoing the same action, over and over. The blindness I could not place…a
result of too much of running away perhaps? A psychological reaction…the way my
body responded to everything that did not really matter in the core of me as I
fought to retain the bits and pieces that had shattered painlessly, noiselessly
and without being noticed by even me.
In this virtual reality, I sat for a long, long time. My body hardened into a sphere nobody could break into, even if they did found me. But how would they ever find me? I had made it so impossible to be found, even by me. I don’t know how I had done it. If they asked me to do it again, to fall so slowly that it barely registered even inside me, I wouldn’t have been able to. But I had resisted, I could see. I could see it in the way I could no longer pray, the way I accepted people when they said or did things I did not like; I averted my eyes and after a while, even that became unnecessary. I could stand in the same room and stare at things that were going on without feeling a thing. In short, I was so painfully blind; I could see nothing and the feelings that penetrated through the surface were too slow in reaching me. They accumulated somewhere on the way I think. And they lost their essence by the way the seeped through to me. But I had fought against the gravity that had been pulling me down. How long had I fought before finally giving up? I did not know. From where I sat, it did not matter.
I cannot really recall the way things had been before. Honestly, no matter how hard I try (and I don’t anymore), I can’t drag the old thoughts to the surface, none of those old prayers…feeling the wind blow on a hot summer evening never held the same significance. But though I cannot recall, I can most certainly miss. I miss it now and I miss it sorely from the hardened floor of my breakable world, through the coagulated layers of my numb skin which barely hears the subtle whisperings every hair on my body had once been so sensitive towards. So I sit here wondering…wondering if there is something I can do; no, if there is something I want to do about the situation. Do I want to go back? Is there a way to?
Maybe when I slipped from one world to the next, it was what I was seeking. Knowing that I can’t find something so transient, so fragile that it had drifted away, I had looked instead for a substitute. And in the never ending silence of the sudden break in my journey, I found it clearly. I found an artificial world I could sink into quite peacefully; and I did it thankfully. I don’t know why I thought I wouldn’t need to emerge from make-belief. There is nothing that can make this virtual reality the “reality” it had been anymore. I think I must return, regrettably and definitely not without protest, but return I must. There is no other option.
So here is the inertia. Something that is making me cling to this happy bridge for dear life, not wanting to cross over. The inertia comes from both within and without. From without it comes because there is nothing pushing me forward and so I am resultantly stagnated. And from within, it comes more understandably. I must move my limbs, must break the cool, shady walls of this virtual reality and walk into the blinding colors ahead. I don’t want to but I must. And the sooner, the better because the things outside won’t wait forever. The pressures won’t cease. The pushing won’t stop until I give up, which I eventually will. But maybe tomorrow. “Tomorrow is another day”.
In this virtual reality, I sat for a long, long time. My body hardened into a sphere nobody could break into, even if they did found me. But how would they ever find me? I had made it so impossible to be found, even by me. I don’t know how I had done it. If they asked me to do it again, to fall so slowly that it barely registered even inside me, I wouldn’t have been able to. But I had resisted, I could see. I could see it in the way I could no longer pray, the way I accepted people when they said or did things I did not like; I averted my eyes and after a while, even that became unnecessary. I could stand in the same room and stare at things that were going on without feeling a thing. In short, I was so painfully blind; I could see nothing and the feelings that penetrated through the surface were too slow in reaching me. They accumulated somewhere on the way I think. And they lost their essence by the way the seeped through to me. But I had fought against the gravity that had been pulling me down. How long had I fought before finally giving up? I did not know. From where I sat, it did not matter.
I cannot really recall the way things had been before. Honestly, no matter how hard I try (and I don’t anymore), I can’t drag the old thoughts to the surface, none of those old prayers…feeling the wind blow on a hot summer evening never held the same significance. But though I cannot recall, I can most certainly miss. I miss it now and I miss it sorely from the hardened floor of my breakable world, through the coagulated layers of my numb skin which barely hears the subtle whisperings every hair on my body had once been so sensitive towards. So I sit here wondering…wondering if there is something I can do; no, if there is something I want to do about the situation. Do I want to go back? Is there a way to?
Maybe when I slipped from one world to the next, it was what I was seeking. Knowing that I can’t find something so transient, so fragile that it had drifted away, I had looked instead for a substitute. And in the never ending silence of the sudden break in my journey, I found it clearly. I found an artificial world I could sink into quite peacefully; and I did it thankfully. I don’t know why I thought I wouldn’t need to emerge from make-belief. There is nothing that can make this virtual reality the “reality” it had been anymore. I think I must return, regrettably and definitely not without protest, but return I must. There is no other option.
So here is the inertia. Something that is making me cling to this happy bridge for dear life, not wanting to cross over. The inertia comes from both within and without. From without it comes because there is nothing pushing me forward and so I am resultantly stagnated. And from within, it comes more understandably. I must move my limbs, must break the cool, shady walls of this virtual reality and walk into the blinding colors ahead. I don’t want to but I must. And the sooner, the better because the things outside won’t wait forever. The pressures won’t cease. The pushing won’t stop until I give up, which I eventually will. But maybe tomorrow. “Tomorrow is another day”.
