FR
To be blunt, I’m currently going through a really rough patch. So rough that I feel as if I were hanging over a bottomless pit, with only the strength of my arms to hold me up.
Naturally, I don’t have a parachute. And I don’t work out either.
Gravity only makes things worse: light as a feather though I may be, everything weighs on me. Like a dead weight. Everything and everyone are letting me down. And I’ve got nothing left to let go of. Apart from this slippery ledge above the void.
Those who have already experienced this feeling will surely understand. Or at least, some will. That’s what I thought, anyway.
And then comes another seismic shock: not believing, just seeing… and taking the blow.
Fortunately, my arms haven't fallen off—not yet.
Rage, despair. It’s like screaming into a black hole with no sound echoing back. No one wants to listen. No one wants to see. No one wants to believe. It's normal: the Real hurts like hell. So you might as well believe in anything… except that. And the bloody pot isn’t about to stop calling the kettle black any time soon. The road to hell is paved with white lies, while heaven serves as a waiting room. That's precisely why you can't take anything there with you.
Between what I think, what I want to say, what I think I’m saying, what I actually say, what you want to hear, what you think you hear, what you actually hear, what you want to understand, and what you actually understand, there are ten ways for communication to go wrong. But let’s give it a try anyway…
Bernard Werber
Some will undoubtedly find it hard to resist offering advice when what all you're actually asking for is someone to listen and hear you out. Because at times like these, all you need is attention, empathy and compassion. Not know-it-all egos trying to score karma points.
Sometimes, just being there and saying nothing is good enough. Even though when it comes to presence, many are conspicuous by their absence. Obviously, we all prefer a comforting lie to a harsh truth. Except when we find ourselves with our backs against the wall… of the Real. Or at least, hanging off the ledge.
Three major sources of solace were offered to me: faith and invisible realms, where you cling to a spiritual, esoteric or religious belief system to make sense of the chaos; the ‘that’s life’ resigned pragmatism, where passive acceptance allows you to armour yourself and lie low, even if it means getting numb; and toxic optimism, where the pursuit of positivity at any cost is akin to the sudden spikes in insulin levels following the consumption of simple carbohydrates, inexorably followed by equally sudden drops in blood sugar levels.
These illusory comfort zones are like trees. The higher you climb in complex thought systems, doctrines or promises of personal transformation, the safer you feel, above the scrum. But the very nature of the simulation makes jolts inevitable. And the branch always ends up snapping under the weight. It is not so much a question of ‘if’ but of ‘when’. The higher the perch, the harder the fall. That’s why we're all clinging to the branches in an attempt to break our fall.
I am currently in this phase. In limbo. Between the branches of illusion and the thorns of the Real.
To be honest, I no longer want to choose between a brutal collision with the Real and the fleeting numbness of illusion. What’s the point since no matter how hard we try to erase everything, traces remain and we end up unable to unsee?
So perhaps the way out lies in this in-between space? In this precarious, uncomfortable and deeply painful position, yet ultimately beyond polarities? Like a zone of electrified barbed wire that only the most badass manage to make it through? In any case, we won't know until we cross it. Or not.
In the meantime, thank you for being around. It makes things a bit easier to get through.
© La Pensine Mutine. All rights reserved. Reproduction prohibited.
