The war that rages inside me is one I cannot silence. My thirst [is] to feel, to live not as I do but as I am. I am not the man that slips into society undetected. I seek to escape it, and to love, to hurt, to mourn, to crumble, to hope. I know not how to live this way. I am confronted with the thought that if I do not feel all that it is to be human, I have failed. And yet I find myself adhering to the emotionless status quo, fitting in to what it is that has become human – to be a virus and a loveless drone that wallows its way through life, realizing only near the end that there is only emptiness when all falls away to time.
I yearn to feel, if that is what is truth beyond the physical. I yearn to escape my space and time, to be truly as I am, and nothing less. The paradox within me is the fight between seeming truths; I am finite, but I need to forget all the pressures of this earth and exist in whole truth.
I am a man who travels but never meets, swims but never drinks. I seek answers to my questions; what am I that is not of this world? Are the mountains and valleys of my heart the paths to joy and peace? Is there more than what I think and do? Is there less? Why do I search for identity? What is my body and what is me? What separates these two existences?
I have planned my mortal life with a few statues of inevitability along the way, but I have not planned for the years if not decades of searching that I must do. I have not left room to feel, only to do.
There is no conclusion I can draw to the process, although I have fooled myself to believe that I know all things, for I know what the beginning and end of my body will be. Since I know the endpoints of my body’s life, a and b, I have approximated its path as a straight line. I have used the fundamental theorem of calculus to approximate my life, by allowing that change – the derivative – is constant and therefore my life will be continuous and smooth. I have made myself differentiable.
But I am thinking now that perhaps it should be approximated by a harmonic function, one that sings my life to all other life, with highs and lows. But if I am to be as I am, and nothing more, if I am to be exactly me, apart from any identity I build myself, apart from any category I place myself in, then I cannot approximate my journey, for only by living it will I know the function, only by pushing through the traps of the world can I not approximate it, but coincide with it. This exceeds knowledge, this exceeds body.
If I am to know and feel both unimaginable joy, and undeniable pain to the highest level possible, then I must be my life. I must not only live it, but be it. The separation I have conceived between me, my life, and my body must be discarded, for it matters not. This surpasses logic, for logic is a tool of thought. This surpasses emotion, for it is a tool of the soul. This surpasses senses, for they are tools of the body. Whatever connection I have to these I must break, and then become these things. To be one is to be grater than any other state.
The identity is the greatest of all beings, for it is perfect. What you give it, it returns. You cannot divide it up without leaving it whole. If you take it away from itself, nothing remains for it is everything. Again, to be one is the utmost goal, for it is perfect.
I must be my body, I must be my soul, I must be my neighbor, I must be (one with) God, I must seek all things that are separated from me, and bring them into me. I must be other peoples’ suffering, I must be other peoples’ joy, I must be my mentor, I must be my student. I must be my hope, and I must be my fear. I must be my being. I must be my strength, and I must be my weakness. I must be weakness. I must be strength. I must be. I must be. I must be.
