It comes slowly and silently, with autumn cloud tenderness. Warm handed it will hold you, caress and lull you softly into its sleep. Or it comes all together at once, loud and sudden, like thunder, violent like a fist that hits whilst you are looking the other way, whilst you are dreaming.
of tomorrow. It will grab the future from your vision, until you can see only today.
It is heavy. Like the heaviest weightless thing you have ever carried. The burden of it will not fall upon your hands and shake it, nor upon your back and break it. It will be heavy within you, like smog, like a dead thing; alive but dying. Like how the first breath, and the last breath is the same; and in the moment of it, it is difficult to tell which is which.
It will rest upon your bones and tell you that you are not moving today. The message comes from a full empty place, a faceless face; nothing seen, and a voiceless voice; nothing heard, but it is clear, and it is there. You are not moving today. And you will not move. Your veins will become hollow, like abandoned temples once filled with prayer. Not even prayer will move you. And what is prayer, if there is no sound? That thing you were looking forward to suddenly becomes burden, so you will make excuses. I am not feeling well; I am not feeling myself. I am not feeling. But then you remember their face, and see how it looks at you when you are not there when you said you would be. Their face now reminds you of how you feel inside, and because you know how it feels to feel this way and you do not want them to feel this way, so you go, to that thing. And they, they only feel this way on their face, but you, you feel this way in your bones, and it grinds you, all the way to dust. So you go, to that thing, and there you are, moveless. Though you thought you beat it, didn’t you?
At least for today you thought you beat that voice without a voice when you went, but it was right when it said you are not moving today because you went to this thing and you did not move, just like it said. You were there and you did not move.
There are times when you will move, but even in your moving you are moveless, for the times when you move and you think you have beaten it by moving, you eventually realise that your moving was on the outside. That even the moment of your moving, your inside does not move, and you feel this. You feel this when your moving is finished and you go back to being still, to it being right, that voice without a voice. It speaks. But for a moment, you were happy, because they were happy, for they saw you move but did not know that your moving was not like theirs though it looked the part.
And you give yourself, to your destruction because the fall is much easier than the climb. The fall is weightless. A perpetual freedom. The ground is closer to touch than the sky, so why reach up? Why when you will never be able to feel the sky? The sky envelopes. The sky consumes. It is heavy.
And this, this is the root of your affliction; knowing that you are nothing but this destruction but at the same time, more than it ; knowing that you cannot escape it - your destruction - for if you do, it will push you further away from them, further on your own. Your freedom, is liberating, a weightlessness all of its own, but it comes not without pain, for the pain is knowing that you are alone in this. and though your lonesomeness soothes you, it is also your breaking for no one was born to be alone. Too well, you know this. We are born, we die, and during, we rest in between the tender balance of things. Of all things. Though we wish to be, we are never quite alone and though we wish to be, we are never quite included. We exist on the peripheries; this tender balance, we carry the degrees of its experience and it rests heavy in us, on us, of us. It takes too much and gives too little yet we feel it all. A heavy weightless thing.
If only you knew that it too breathes, like you. That it's infinite expanding is like your lungs, and the air it breathes is the ethereal star dust of the universe. It feels and suffers like you, like you it is the bearer of pain and not just it's own. It harbours the pain of those who do not have their stories told; the silenced; the muted; the forgotten. And that's why it is heavy on you because you feel their pain; those whose suffering makes a song in the ears of the deaf and their dancing rythymless feet tramples all over its melody. Their pain makes you feel more of your own, and so you feel more of theirs. It is chemical melancholy and that's why it is beautiful for it does not look at itself with a greater beauty than it looks at others. It's shining is not from its own light.
If only you knew that you that it is neither your light nor your darkness that scares, it is the beauty of the gentle balance between; this hard softness; this tender strength. That you might find it there.
It, like you, rests in the gentle balance of all things. So do not just give yourself to one way, too much, to one thing. Do not let despair be the heavy upon your soul, without hope being the wings that lifts it up. Do not stay still.