Sometimes you associate with a sentiment too closely, and it assumes a part of your identity. If you aren’t careful, it can hijack the core of it. You build yourself around it. Your thinking, your philosophy, your calm and chaos, your highs and lows, your sleep and wakefulness, your grief and joy, your ecstasy and melancholy, your longing and indifference, your desire and repulsion, your dawn and dusk, your breath and quiet, your darkness and light, your need and gift,… your everything begins to revolve around this sentiment that has come to define you.
One day, you simply stop feeling it. You are panicking. You furiously search for it wherever you can. You rummage and burrow. You tear open and glean. You carefully unbutton and stitch it back together. Where could it have gone? You take a break, and sit in the sun. You look up and wonder why you are looking for it at all. After all, it was that which grieved you. You described it to strangers as your ailment. You sought help for it. You hoped for it to be healed. You yearned for it to be soothed. It was your glitch. And now it was gone.
“But there is a hollowness,” you moan.
Isn’t that a good thing? It can now be filled by whatever you would like to fill it with. But you are despondent for that which is lost. With distance, you see it solely for its beauty.
“Take your time,” you tell yourself in your head.
Some days you miss it, so much that you cannot do much but just curl up and ruminate. Some days you pick yourself up together, determined to create something new with your soul and mind. “We will concoct a bright, new, beautiful being together,” you reassure yourself. Some days, you just watch them days float by, and realize that you are just yet another individual, hoping for a chance to just be. There is no struggle, there is no oneness, there is no ‘you’ – just a fleck of the cosmos that is conscious. Muddled, but conscious. Like when you are drunk with wine, but you can still tell that you are. However, control over your actions feels like an unnecessary struggle against your better judgment. Just a fleck of cosmos with consciousness. Like an offhanded superpower.
So you let the hollowness be. A magical space, a rich void, a promising rut, a soft corner, a sleepy hollow, within your heart, reaching for your soul and engulfing it from within and without. This is a new way, but it is very becoming on me.