January 11, 2014

An explosion that will happen


This is a letter that was sent to me by a student who asked to remain anonymous. I think that it hides many truths for those of us who are willing to see...

"This morning is vague, gloomy and very very contracting.

Contracting is hard, painful and seems to last much longer than it actually does. Hours seem to stand still and the whole world outside seems to vanish. 


The only thing that “saves” me is the expanded view that simultaneously tries to push itself through the cracks of darkness. Even if I seem to lose it, I somehow know that it’s always there. I didn’t always know. Even now, when I find myself at the very center of emptiness and pitch darkness, the possibility that it might never shine again is so strong and so evident that its frightening enough to pull me even lower and darker… just when I thought the pit was right below me.

My inner world becomes the center of everything. Nothing and no one else exists except me. They are all puppets in my own play. I have to sort this one out, I have to remain and be willing to feel, to explore, to lose myself. 


They have accused this state. They have tried to make me feel guilty. They have attempted in many different ways to show me a view that I don’t want to see. I don’t listen anymore. I must pave my own way.

The emotions are much more intense than the words that describe them. 


All the fake smiles make me want to vomit. All the lies make me sicker than I like to be. Do people really believe that their fake smiles and borrowed beliefs safeguard a place in paradise for them? Can they be so eluded as to think that hiding their darkness makes them better than me?

Wanting and needing to escape the hell inside them, makes the rest of us only experience it more, for all of us. But they don’t realize this. Do they really think that they have nothing to do with how my day is? Do they really continue to carefully close themselves behind carefully sealed doors that actually keep nothing, either out or in? 


Crying and laughing with this whole situation is enough to lead  me to insanity. You told me that insanity is the way to See...

They are eager to know my name instead of knowing me inside themselves. My name doesn’t matter even to me. It’s funny, and yet I know you’ll understand… the more I sink in and lose touch with all reality, anything that’s sane or seems so, the more I escape this prison cell through an “explosion” that I know will happen… soon."




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