What I Want

So then, deep inside me, what do I want? So deep inside me that nothing in the world, not even God, reaches that far down: what do I want?

Just an irrelevant philosophical question. Nothing more than the question that would decide where my whole reality in the world is headed. There is no time to think about superhero comics when I have no choice but to devote myself to surviving desperately in a predatory world.

Just one possible answer that would clear up the picture of my endless personalities, each with its assigned superpower, still untrained and unknown for now. An answering of myself that would confront me with the results of my false answers. A confrontation that would set me, once and for all, on the path to being a superhero and not a supervillain.

Because what would I do, utterly alone before the eternal, throbbing Universe, standing in that freedom to create, from my sacred Will, the timeless existence of reality itself? There are no rules inside my solitude, neither the ones I learned from society nor the ones that do hold true in the world. Nothing narrows the enormous range of realities I could choose. What would I put on, if I held the remote for the interdimensional cable that lets me tune in to any channel in the quantum spectrum of every conceivable human perception?

I want to be a stubborn young man with the strength to conquer the far reaches of the galaxy far, far away, romping through adventures that paint richness onto a lifeline full of daring, impeccability and power.

I want to be the story of the humble shepherd tucked away in a gentle field where both the green and the heavenly bloom, but who is destined to have his humble boredom interrupted to become the king of the people chosen by the supreme divinity, to form forever, in the firmament, the next constellation.

But I want to ride the fantasies of my mind sitting tall in the saddle, to watch the noisy inconsistency of my beliefs, to know how to use my super ability to keep watch and detect not only the steps of every ant in the galaxy far, far away, but the ghostly nature of every thought and sensation projected onto the screen of my perceiving.

I want to not be of the world, because the world disappears when I look it in the face, while I remain unchanged no matter what the world is like. To know, from that hidden, tiny corner where the whole of the infinite Mystery dwells, who I am. That is what I want: the middle way.

So I want to experience what I want.

And so I also want to correct what I want, so that this can arrange itself in collaboration with that other thing I also want.

The dialogue among my countless inner characters is a psychological process in which the different archetypes of the human mind rearrange themselves around the center of the Universe itself. So I want to live through the series of adventures that come with this inward exploration, adventures soaked in conflict, pain and dreamed-of stars. And behind this process of unification, I want to find myself.

I want to weep in the voice of a poet who has found his promised love. I want to laugh without remembering any knowledge that gets in the way of laughing. I want to feel up close the intensity of life, the vibration of an emptiness that speaks of the unstoppable passing of time, the inevitable fate of death that cannot be separated from the cycle of life.

And with my ineffable Consciousness focused this way, I want the superpower of wanting nothing more than what is already showing up as unchanging reality. And when I want to change something, I will also be able to want reality to go on being just as it is, a reality in which, as it happens, I want to change something.

So I look at what I want. That is what I want. No moral imposition at all, nothing but honesty.

And someday I will find God too. Not by searching for him, because he is busy finding himself. But by searching for me, because when I find myself, God will be there too.