The Door

This is just another way to escape the tensions and stresses of daily life; the tensions and stresses of being in the possession of a crappy concept of self. The tensions and stresses that are eluded by the gritting of teeth or nervous shaking of a leg, or obsessively humming a tune or hammering a rhythm. Or more sophisticatedly by overworking or making music. Or more pervertedly like taking a smoke or masturbating. Or more deceitfully by starting a religion, or following one. I go left and right and come back to this. As if this were the way. Where do i go? What do i do?

There is a way that eventually ends the tensions and stresses. But i do not like to take it. It is too demanding. To learn to love myself. That is the way. But this requires a relationship with myself, where i actually open my eyes and see myself as it really is. This is so threatening and i have twisted it in a way that it no longer is a threat to me but a weapon i use to threaten others. "I, the one who sees himself for what it is!" i console myself, saying of those i am threatened by "Idiots, they can't explain their own behavior!" Alas, when lies and deceit are so prevalent that sickness be overlooked and the overlooking be glorified.

Imagine coming to terms with yourself. Imagine walking down the winding corridors, through forgotten underground halls, where light is luxury, where the smells are not familiar, and not pleasant, where rats scurry around and cobwebs get in your face, and finding the door. Unexpectedly. Who could live here? Imagine what your stomach would feel like if you thought about opening it. Imagine you did. Imagine the smell of human excrement and rotting skin. A dreadful sight, a broken old man, wounded, naked, prostrated on the floor amidst his own faeces. Imagine him seeing you. Imagine him attempting to raise his limp arm to seek your help. Imagine his eyes coming into yours! Now imagine it is your responsibility to help. Wouldn't you rather shut the door and run out to the light and erase the scene entirely from your memory, and fill your head with pleasant sights and smells, and music and laughter?

But woe to you when you boast your skills at exploring dark alleys and opening spooky doors. Woe to you when that person behind the door becomes a mere cause that you fight for, a mere concept. Woe to you because you have made yourself a cause, a concept. You have fallen from personhood.