And She Was

 ...A Dialogue

Spending this holiday alone, just at home, and walking in the park. This year, Christmas feels peaceful—a day of quiet solitude. Away from troubles and people who irritate me. No parties, no alcohol, no haze, no socializing.

Intentionally choosing stillness has been quite a challenge. My instincts resist this new programming. Yet, this melancholia has been my companion for as long as I can remember. Lost in a whimsical realm of deep philosophy and mystical thought, my head often drifts into the clouds.

In a subtle way, this experience is universal. The doors to this state of mind may be open or closed, but it is always present, waiting for us to choose it. It draws us in during moments of vulnerability, especially when the allure of melancholy feels almost comforting.

Artists, in particular, seem to drown in these thought patterns. Their minds travel to realms of vast depth, exploring knowledge and imagination. It's akin to opening Pandora’s box, sealed with idealized, starry imagery. These thoughts are not shallow; they carry a profound sense of depth, detaching one from daily life’s reality.

Dissonance. Eccentricity. Esotericism. Nihilism. Ignorance. Opposites swirl together. It’s like swimming in an ocean, only to realize that the ocean is you. Exploring the surface and diving into its depths, fearless yet afraid, recognizing that all its parts are inherently you. There is no separation.

This is the dance of impermanence—the fleeting nature of life. Reality slides and fades, and my reality may differ from yours. Breaking barriers, stripping away layers of disbelief, I wonder: is this ego trying to bandage the pain it faces in its simplest form?

To connect. To serve. To laugh. To experience joy with others. I miss these things but have been caught in the illusion of seeking nothingness, clinging to it, stuck in a loop of endless chasing.

Discoveries—conceptualizing everything. Sleepless nights spent theorizing, analyzing, interpreting. It's exhausting. Caught between intellectual pursuits and the simplicity of living a grounded, real life. Detached. Aware of my personality yet trapped in the liminal space between integration and disintegration.

This journey of human discovery is deep and profound, but it is not easy. It is dangerous.

To love is dangerous.
To be broken feels like death.

How does one face death?

I can barely manage my own emotions. How, then, can I display genuine empathy when I’m stuck in whimsical delusions?

Reality, in its harshest reflections, is a surprise—a tough, unyielding mirror.

Yet, I broke through anyway. So, let’s “continue” this journey.