My Writings

People-Watcher

If you ask me what I have been doing, I will tell you. I was here all along, touching the ground with a stick, staring at my fingers, cleaning my nails, sitting with my head down. Waiting.

Taking care of the crops as the universe dies, brushing off the sweat from my brow as the river of time is reduced to a trickle. And I am perhaps needed elsewhere.

Do not look for me. When I am finally done wasting away my days I will come find you. I have too many of them.

Exile has taken hold of me. I breathe I the strange isolation in which I find myself in. I have learned everything there is to learn about it, and yet it always comes as a surprise. Through it I learn about myself. That mighty river of understanding crashes against my stupidity and soon, I hope, I will finally understand.

In fact, I welcome this new self. It means an end to the stagnation, I would gladly offer myself at its altar.

But in an instant I’m overcome by strange, sweet apathy. Underneath the crystal cold shell of what life surrounds me with I feel the warmth inside, constantly reigniting and sustaining itself, but I cannot reach it.

The heated body of the dancer that I am – I can feel it washed in cold water, and the accumulating tension in the muscles, growing day by day from the moment I open my eyes, only to be released at once in a blessed moment.

That is life, but I see no life here.

Instead I see myself dragging a horse through a crowded market, penniless. Perhaps a people-watcher is what I am in this dream. Maybe a thief, maybe a hero. Look for me in unexpected places, but even then you will never find me, as I am unaware of my own existence.

Above me the stars finally fade, as the poison and nectar in all of us prepare for battle one last time.

But I am here. Eternally undisturbed in my exile. I have no part to play in the great game.

I do not compete.

I do not lack or own.

I am free.

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