Swimming in the middle of space. Making it what we will.
We fill the space with images of our own creating. Meshed collages of all that we see.
At times, the void is brimming with all things lovely and wonderful. And we sweep our hands through the empty air and feel feathers pass through our fingers. We smell the sweet and taste the exquisite. And drink in every moment as if our thirst can never quenched.
If this life were a perfect thing, we would be permitted to spend every moment of it in these glowing, glorious places. We would have no need to fear.
But sometimes, beauty begins to melt into the uncertain and the mysterious. We are drawn to it. Led by curiosity and an unexplainable NEED to know. We turn our heads away from that paradise where we know we could be forever happy. Because if there is even a small chance that we would find greater happiness in that unknown, we must pursue it.
No matter how many times we are told that there is nothing but misery there, we never fully believe.
And so we are willingly drawn. Dipping out hands in the haziness all around, eager to direct ourselves to all that is exciting and new.
The anticipation is everything. The experience itself is one that seems fulfilling at first-but slowly, imperceptibly, the space surrounding begins to darken. When it is too late, we notice that we are now floating in a void once again with nothing in it but expectations turned cold and an icy realization that we have made a horrible mistake.
We come about, frantically flailing our arms in an insistant retreat. Swimming our way through that space, back to where we came from-only to be mercilessly ripped back into the darkness.
Unable to breathe, to think, to act, we strain against the invisible arms keeping us there. We feel cold and empty and dead and want nothing more than to return to that place where we knew we would be forever happy. The grasping restraints give nothing.
We are only swallowing empty air and thrashing in place.
Exhausted, we give up. And turn to the minute and empty pleasure that is to be had in such a place as this.
If only our souls would cry out, would plead for salvation, we could be free. For we cannot break the chains alone. We are bound in such a way that the only chance for release is through another.
We are floating in this life. Able through choice only to direct our own paths. There is a right way. It is paved in light, filled with stars, and it leads to all things desired. But it is hard to see. When we are so distracted by the beauty, by the darkness, by the mysterious in the space all around, it is impossible to notice.
Even when we do see it, to direct our bobbing selves to it, to follow it's course, is difficult. And it becomes so easy to give up.
And so we find ourselves in an unbreakable cycle.
And we wonder-where is there peace to be had?
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