No one can know what it is to be you.
No one can know what it is to be me. To me.
How hard is it? How bad? How tough? How rough?
Can there be happiness? Eternal sunshine? Perpetual peace? Silence?
We are defined by the choices we make. And the choices we let go. Both. I wonder what the un-opted choices would have brought? Must be better. After all, you know you make the worst of the decisions.
How can you know this one is going to be the best one when you don’t even know the remaining options?
How can you choose when you have only one life? How can you evaluate the two when you are one? How can this all work, with all the blame falling on you? On us. On me. The dispensable!
This is how it is but it’s wrong. Would you do it again? Yes. You are going fine. But people don’t really mean yes. Never do.
You are not asked before life. But you can’t take one. Not even your own. The absolute slavery defines you. You can be conceived in a pit or a bed of roses but you ain’t the choice. You never were.
Have you wondered why suicide is not allowed? Because it is pleasurable. Just like all the sins in and around alcohol and sex. Banned. Because suicide is next to ecstasy. A final ride up in the air. A never ending ride.
Imagine your wrist. A cut. Fine one. And blood gushing out. Beat by beat. Gradually slowing down the flow. Along with the rhythm of the heart. Dhumb dhumb. Snoozing out. Zooming out. Eyes seeing the other side of the coded world. Everything decrypting right in front of you. And it all shines on. Like the moon. Like the star. Like the sun. Sorry Lennon!
How dare you think to get out of your enslaved body? How dare you think to get out of pain? Freedom is banned.
Once a prophet asked God that he wants the whole prophethood lineage through him until the last prophet. God accepted. This is a divine acceptance of dynastic rule. Or monarchy. Yet, you can’t… I know… You know… Resist.
Even when the greatest of prophets knew a lot, and had direct contact with the God, they couldn’t resist. Musa couldn’t resist his questions. Khizr couldn’t bear Musa. The two great men had to part ways because the two were incompatible. But we – the imperfect ones – are not allowed to part ways. We are blamed. Judged. Stoned. Punished. Labeled for life.
I am Musa. I can’t bear myself. That’s the whole point.
How bad it is? How worse could it be?
Sometimes you connect the dots backwards. Reverse engineering. Going reverse in mind and yet there is no apparent contingency choice. Until or unless you go backwards in time so deep that the Butterfly Effect happens and you cut your own umbilical cord inside your mother.
After all, you cut your umbilical cord all the time. Only that you just don’t die because you are not allowed to die by choice.
Do you know what hospice is? Do know. There are ways to reduce pain without cutting the wire. But I do believe that concept from ‘You Don’t Know Jack”. There must be a choice. At least when the pain is unbearable and there is no hope ahead. The hospice system should enhance for all age groups.
Isn’t it too frustrating? Let’s cut the cord for now. There are times when we all wish there was no time. No existence. No existential crises.
And no words.
Seems all the words are coming straight from my heart…another heart touching piece.
Cease to believe in a celestial dictator and it all gets better.
My comment, it says, awaits moderation.
My comment, it says, needs to be read and deemed proper before it is posted.
I thought this was the last place to have a censorship!
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