Ever loved someone you couldn’t have and your whole world feels like it burned to cinders? Ever feel like the ashes of your existence are being stamped out by tiny demons?
Ever screamed and pounded your fists to soften the blow? Whilst every part of your being is viciously torn apart, ripped from flesh and, sinew and bone until all that’s left is a empty shell.
Clinging desperately to the remnants of that person in a pitiful attempt to hold onto their shadow as they leave.
Some small part of them that reminds you of their unique beauty and wonderful mind. Of the powerful arms that once held you tight.
Something, anything to make you hold part of them in the wasteland you’ve become. So that the memory of the impact of them hurtling through your life helps you to sleep at night, wraps you in a blanket of warmth from the bitter cold.
From the ashes a small sparkle of hope lies buried in the wreckage of your
soul, a little piece of the life they lived the journey they took the road they walked, the battle weary soldier they became.
What made them the person you fell ever so hard for but ultimately lost. The quest you undertake to find them. To travel the road they walked, like a faithful little kitten. To fight whatever demons of their past that stole their mind. So you have some small outlet for the pain you hold inside. The hurt of never having the only one you wanted.
#existence
The Tank
Would you rather live in a world where you felt love and happiness, where you suffered, lost and felt pain- but every experience was real, all yours on your journey? Or would you prefer to have everything you could ever wish for, with no heartache, pain, suffering or illness… but it’s all artificial, whilst your body lies in a tank?
I’ve thought a lot about this over the years. The first thing I would think of was Descartes’ quote “Cogito ergo sum”: I think, therefore I am. Meaning, if I’m in a machine at all, going through that process, I must exist somewhere on some level. That is of comfort to me, because of all my fears I fear ceasing to exist the most.
Yet, because I have that fear, I must not be in a tank. It’s a real fear. Shouldn’t I be content that out of the … billion sperm meeting egg, that I made it, I won the lottery of life at all? Don’t get me wrong, but as lucky as I feel I can’t help thinking just surviving isn’t enough anymore. I’ve started getting the urge to live out as many lives as lives have been lived, as if each new life is a simple as reading another book. When I die I don’t want to have any regrets or missed opportunities or ‘what if’s?’
I want to walk in the footsteps of giants, and hear the songs of heroes from the battlements. I want to stand in the ruins of empires. I want to fly on other planes of existence and feel so that I never stop feeling. I want to stop being a scared little girl inside trying to fill the shoes of a confident woman. I want to banish fear back into the darkness, the fear of death of nothing and being forgotten…
…and of dying with regrets.
If I live with no regrets, isn’t that enough? It’s more of an opportunity than some people ever have.
Liliana's Chains 