20240226 - 11:35
What is there left to say, tonight? How can I put into words the fear that subsides in my heart? The nervousness, excitement, the anticipation. It’s something that’s been bubbling for a while now. Today, I will go to sleep with a smile on my face. Whatever else; If I where to die tonight, I will know I leapt. There is only this. Right here, right now. 5 months ago I sacrified tomorrow to the only God I know who would want it. Every day I use its flame to feed the actions of today. I thought that I would never see her again. I almost didn’t write. For what? Fear? Shame? No. That fear is not the same. It is the rejection of everything life would be. Look into the eyes of the bhikku and ask him if he is afraid of life. How could such a renunciation be rooted in anything but the deepest love? How could I look myself in the mirror, having sat on a cushion for 3 hours, and decide that I wouldn’t? As if spirituality was some sort of coping mechanism. As if its purpose was anything but to bring you face to face with that which terrifies you the most. So what do I fear? I am afraid of telling people how I feel, afraid of scaring them away. Afraid of being honest, of being real. Afraid of being hurt. But more than that; I am afraid of life itself, of feeling love, of the way it touches you in chambers of your heart you didn’t know existed. I am afraid, more than anything, of seeing through. Of feeling the intensity of what has always been there just beneath the surface. The first time I realized I was alive was the first time I was truly afraid. But more than my fear, I ache with compassion for those who don’t know. It is for them I write, it is for them I live. “May liberation come swiftly, so that I may help ease the suffering of this world.” Everyday I pray. Yet I have my own path to walk, my own demons to face, and my own battles to fight. I’ve pretended to not know what I know. I’ve pretended to know what I don’t know. I want to live my life in honesty. I want to look her in the eyes and tell her how I feel. I want the words I write to be nothing more than a footnote in the story of that which could never be said. In the end I find myself here again; trapped in the maze of language. Trying to become its master, naively hoping to meld the words together in a way that would allow them to transcend their own limitations. Faith is the idea that there is a beyond; that words are not the edges of our limitations. Months ago I met a woman who told me that love is what bridges that gap. I could not believe her, did not understand. Today I think I might.