In the heart of the void, I rest my being but not my thoughts. The darkness is pressuring me to run away and never look back. Yet its core is magnetically dragging me into that place I only dream of escaping. With each implementation attempt, my mind waves threads of running strategies that fail irremediably. I keep trying to distract myself with behaviors and patterns that promise to fulfill what I longed for. Results are delayed to show, though. I am just trapping myself in a prison world of thoughts.

What is to be found in this void?

What is to be seen or heard?

Why is this void calling me so heavy?

It is cold and empty down here. I only encounter unthought thoughts, unimagined ideas, uncreated universes, and lives. It is an endless night. The gloom fog reigns here in this limbo, shattering mind moves of confusion and despair. All colors look alike in this dark realm: only shades of black, like in a sketch, are what I see around me.

The void

Photo by Alexis Fauvet on Unsplash

I know this place so well. I lived here for so many years, even if living isn’t the best descriptor of the experience. I was roaming around this place, senseless, not wanting to see, hear, or endure any pain or anything at all. The only thing I achieved was to be blind and deaf to myself and my feelings. I did not want to see or hear them, afraid that the ache I once felt would ripple inside and break me over again. Yet I thought it all. Inside of me lived the pain, the joy, the grief, the sadness and anger, frustration, and that sense of not belonging; everything was here all along. My body remembered everything and kept its score while fighting to control myself in that blind and deaf game of emotions.

In an inner game of wanting to look at myself as only excellent and immaculate, as a light being, I ignored for a very long time that dark part of me that knew well to experience and deal with grief, sadness, anger, and frustration. That part used to exist and have space before I was hurt, learned resilience, or lingered in that endless heartbreaking woe.

Hope was the only sparkling light around—the hope of a lived life trying endlessly to fill this void. In the pursuit of this free living, the only thing that’s still trapped is that part of me longing to be seen and heard by me alone, that part that used to feel all there is to feel and then abandoned itself in stillness and silence, that me who sat muted and immovable in a void no longer craving to be filled with anything but transited by all there is to sense, just for a little while.

So here I am again, looking for me, looking for that path. Strange and funny, isn’t it?