It came to me like the most subtle whisper. My own thoughts, drifting faintly by myself. A passer-by of sorts, who would deliver the most faithful revelation at random. “I can’t take this anymore,” the voice said faintly. And I acknowledged my own thought like I would a stranger speaking a strange truth to me. “Ah, yes, this is true”, my mind agreed, “I really can’t take going on this way anymore.”
And the feeling overall was one of the most profound loneliness. It shook me like the coldest Northern air grasping me through my coat. Of course, I could not live this way anymore. But what could be done to change this? Really, nothing. I was still wandering around like a lifeless cast of my own self and just drifting in and out of my own dreams and meditations. And who could change all this? I struggled daily to change my life. But the change had to come from fate. It had to be delivered by the hands of another. And best in the guise of love or friendship or creative ingenue.
In the past, this significant change never came from me taking actions, and it could only be recognized as something I desperately needed to happen outside of myself. So, I placed the inbound call, and I pressed it outward into the universe from my heart. My face was peeking from the glass of my desolation, peering out into the abyss that is fate. The clouds that disguise fate’s intentions lay heavy on the outside of the window, stirring something inside of me that gravely acknowledged the mystery of the universe.
I aspire to so much more, yet, I cannot seem to make it farther than looking out this window of self-isolation and imposition into the ambiguities of nature’s design.
In the past, the fateful stuff that worked, that was always love. That was still me stumbling luckily into the dilated eyes of one who would long for me. Now, things seemed even more obscured. I felt as though the window I leaned against was much thicker glass, and no faces were outside to ponder why I did exist to stare so mysteriously upon them. It was just myself and my own reflection. A very sad face, looking empty and foreign and miserable. Yet, I must still leave room for hope. Truly, a fool's errand.