So Over It

That is how I began a retreat into myself.

I sat down, utterly alone.

Me with me. Nothing else.

At first it hurts, being alone. I hurt, myself. I pity myself, and so I suffer.

Pain is uncomfortable, but that didn't stop me.

I was already a castaway, cut off from society, with nothing around the horizon but more horizon, painting faces in my own blood to soften the dent it was leaving in me. I was already forgetting the protocols of human communication I use to express myself to someone else.

Moralisms, religious commandments, political ideologies. Every moment in which I had accepted my agreements with the world began to parade in front of me.

Pitiful traumas, instinctive reactions, unconscious tensions. None of it was necessary now that I owed nothing to anyone. So I let go.

And I traveled far away from everyone. I rode the steed of madness to slip free of every outside convention. There, where only I exist, not as an I, but as the existence of that I. There, where everything was possible because I lived behind every possibility.

I have nothing to lose, because I have nothing. I have no one, and I am not forced to give back what I never had. My will is free to reach whatever horizon I choose to dwell in.

But from that lightness I look back at the me who sat in retreat, utterly alone. Usually stuck in a dimension where vices trap him and his legs shake. Obsessed with understanding his bond with the rest of humanity, enslaved behind the revolutionary ideal of being free.

What would make it hard for me to change? Why would moving be so hard? If I keep going back to a dark everyday life, it is because my baggage is there. Once the truck takes it to a new place, I have no reason to go back to my old habits. Once the leap is made, I have no reason to go back to the world.

Far from the world, close to myself, I make myself an offering. It would have been a sacrifice, but I come out losing nothing.

I open my heart to the Will that lives inside me and give myself over to enjoying life, to living it overflowing with the blessings life gives me, death included.

I open myself to that silence that dims any situation in the world and brings me ever closer to the art of living well together.

I won't say “I know how to love,” because I carry my baggage with me. But I will say, I am love, because when I am with myself, there is no one else who is.