I am restless and cannot sleep. By all reckoning it is eleven in the evening. I am having one of my numerous void moments. Sometimes you feel acutely that you are incomplete so as to believe that you have nothing at all. I feel this way tonight; not simply “hopeless”, not simply “helpless”, not simply “sad”, but a bit of all three and much more.
I feel that I am paper, crumpled and left on the street.
I do not intend to ask help from you, however. I know that you are there, watching, maybe to see if I will fall, maybe to observe me impartially. And maybe to help me, though you do not know how and are frustrated and just let yourself be led away later.
And I am tired of crying on your account. A passionate rage of a passionate soul against a passionate animal. It all matches up, true – but I will have no part in it anymore. Some soul has decided to be impassionate altogether, to rise above into the ether, and to fight for his spiritual freedom.
And he has decided that the present void is but an accurate representation of reality. Well – Reality (with the capital R). He has sensed that I am nothing, and, since there is no use crying over nothing, refused to dignify my pleas for consideration. I see him as my worst enemy, but he is my closest friend. He is the only one I run to. I depend almost entirely – no, entirely – on him. And I give him real trouble, and it causes him tears of a different sort. The impassionate rage of an impassionate soul against a passionate animal – which is what the old people call hardship. An incongruous war.
But he does not wage this war against me. Far from that, although I’d rather be on my own than with him. He’s fighting – so he says – for me. For my life, for my freedom, for my salvation – so he says. Listening to him speaking about this is like trying to taste the mist by sticking your tongue out and running headlong into the mist. It seems true, but actually believing it feels triply silly.
But here I am, impelled by him, impelled along a path of extinction. Here I am, bowing my head! Bending my knee! Burying my heart! My “yea” is weak, my “nay” fervent to the point of fire.
Is this how it feels, is this how death feels?
I do not know what to do. It feels like a very painful orgasm – one that gives so much pain in pleasure’s stead. But everything is slowly becoming of a different color. Is it the color they call light? Is it? Because this color I’ve lived with all my life – it’s changing, and comparing this new color and the old, I find that light is fascinating and frightening, while this color I’ve lived with all my life – it’s familiar, sweet, fragrant… but suddenly I feel impelled to denounce it. Darkness, it finally recites its name. Or light recites it for him.
And fear creeps in me. I am a helpless entity, free among the dead. And yet I have given myself over to light, as it sings one, then two, then a hundred, then a thousand, then ten thousand, then a ten million, then a hundred million songs.
And I bow three times more, and lose myself in the ether. And I see him who works to save me. He is a part of me, and I love him – it is rarely the first time I said this, he often tells me, but for me it is always such a first time. I am welcomed to his revolution, to his ascent, to his spiritual freedom.
And I glow – like electrified wire in a bulb! Such phenomena happen to me every time he invites me. The old people speak of similar phenomena such as seeing nothing but light, blinding, ultrapure. Some talk of ancestors visiting them with words. Some talk of mysterious soldiers coming to protect them. Some talk of being ordered to eat a flaming book which tasted sweet. I used to laugh and say it couldn’t possibly happen to me, but heck – now I’m glowing! On this day all the wagging tongues fall silent, so the old people say.
My closest friend, the one who works to save me, embraces me and motions me to walk on. He knows it is only a start, and we must walk on.
Until perhaps I do not lose this glow anymore. I shall become the Fiery One, the Encourager, the Light-Bearer. I shall travel without having to tire myself, and be there in an instant. But till then, I am still nothing. Now, though, being nothing is a part of me I accept.