How do I explain this sensation, the unreality of having a body, with all its drives, wants and needs? Combined with a consciousness that is infinite in its complexity. I am stranger to my own two hands, foreign appendages that mock me, my alienation and the impregnation of existence itself.
I fight these waking thoughts, that threaten to consume my very being. Reaching for anything, something that will assert my own will, and break this curse of indifference, the lacerations from broken plans, promises and doomed prophesies. No longer wanting to embody a tragic hero, on this earthly plane, with all its machiations, tribulations and expectations.
I long for the freedom to not have to endure, to pretend and masquerade a sense of complicit normality. This frigid daily occupation and habitation numbs the self, overriding any glimpses of fleeting warmth, neutrality is a vile punishment, plaguing my daily affairs.
Moments like this, where any sense of hope or optimism is eclipsed by negativity is a premonition of purgatory. The addict in me reaches out, craving, wanting to feel something again. Anything is better than this forlorn emptiness, the barren state of my soul.
Temporary reprieves only compound the guilt from self-loathing. If I am to come out of this darkness, it must be done on my own two feet. Not with the fleeting pleasure of escapism. It must be through the grace of a God, sparking the coals of divinity within.
I must not give into this bleakness, and foster a channel between the godhead and myself. Each breath is a cry, an attempt at prayer for release from this self-inflected hell.
I do not ever expect that these feelings, will ever truly go away. However, the true sin, and loss is found in complete and total resignation. As long as a a small silver of doubt remains, the persistence to question our own inner wormtail, he who whispers falsehoods and lies with a crooked tongue, is enough to hold on.
To realize that salvation can only be found in the darkness, this is where even the smallest flash burns brightest. Illuminating something that is beyond our mere animality. Our incarnations of being, is what allows Beyng, to express itself. We are all in Gethsemane, full of doubt and resignation. Wondering if we have what it takes to persist in this torturous delusion of life.
All we can do is hold on, reflect, pray and believe we have the strength to bear our own cross of suffering. Salvation is on the other side of suffering, and is just as intense, in its sweet release.
Hold fast.
Nice post, DF. We all feel the crushing weight of this reality sometimes (hopefully not all the time). If you havn't read Cioran (https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Emil_Cioran ), you might enjoy his pessimistic Short History of Decay which explores similar themes: https://rava.ge/files/decay.pdf