Dearest fellow orbit travellers, here we move a tad more into our universal journey around the Sun, again and again, no- stop.
We all go to bed wishing for a better day. We all stare at the ceiling while gently caress the pillow with our heads, the friendly face next to us (or not!), the pet snuggled at our feet; wishing for the Future to surprise us a little further when we'll open our eyes again, plunging we go into the depth of dreams, for those who can.
Some ghosts are meant to hunt you forever, and no matter how hard you try to numb the pain, they will always come back to you preaching their rights, preaching their feelings, preaching their ideas, preaching their wishes, never. asking. even. once. how you are doing in the midst of it all. So blinded by their own pain, they hiss and bite all their emotional baggage at you, they point at their wounds and demand you apologises for a pain they cause themselves.
You could, yes, you could engage, you could enrage, you could scream back, you could fight, you could try desperately to try to break through and help them see the reality of things but you know, yes, you know that it won't work.
Earlier on, I was thinking about how much people are shaking during this challenging times, as they probably never had a chance to slow down. Capitalistic and awoken cultures demand us to either RUN or BREATHE, with empty thoughts, forced by circumstances and contexts.
Uncountable religious fanatics are seeing this as the sign of the end and so do politicians and enterprises. A MUST CALL to fix, fix all the fucked up shit we did to get us here in the first place. So we rush into panic more and stockpile toilet paper and beans, which the two sound pretty much dependable on each-other.
All the creatives desperately trying to prove their worth through glass screens, more than so now, all the hard work gaining those followers is finally paying back. Universities reaching for straws, "here we are, a newly developed digital course, you must love it"; and so we carry on, swallowing all that bile. Take this, wear this, do this, preach that, read those.
We shove all those scary thoughts in the bathroom cabinets, under the beds, into the drawers and go on about our days, but now we are trapped in small rooms, and these shadows start creeping out.
They are there not scare us, they just want to be acknowledged.
Yes, you are probably not as pretty as you ever wanted to be, yes, you probably are in such a shit financial situation that you wonder if becoming a full time magician was a good idea, yes, you should have not move to live by yourself cause now there's no one bothering you.
Yes, we are trapped with all the thoughts we try to escape, outrun everyday and yes it's terrible but guess what: for how much as they paint it that way, it's not the end. It's not the apocalypse, it's not the judgement day. There is nothing to judge, we are just humans, going about what humans do. There is nothing to judge, we survive everyday with our quirks, pains, awkwardness and sharp tongues.
Perhaps this will be forever remembered the time when humans stopped and thought. Thought that community is wonderful, but so is being yourself, so is looking at your extra skin in the mirror, so is your brain that sometimes doesn't leave you alone.
Let go of those ghosts, understand that your journey is singular while we travel all together on this planet ship. Maybe one day they will see it, but don't do it for them to make them see, do it for yourself, or don't do it at all; just sit down and listen to the birds, the heartbeat while you look at the ceiling, the warmth of someone else's flesh, the furry paws of your best friend.
This is not the end, end don't exists, this is a journey, a journey inwards. Open those drawers, hoover under the bed, let the fresh air in.
Take this time not to prove something, take this time to gently massage your hands, brush your hair, eat shit food and dye your hair, have a wank, watch porn, binge on Netflix. Your six years old self would be proud of you, hold their hand and dance till your heart explodes.
Love isn't conditional, love is pandemic, so may yourself never heal. Broken souls live forever.
(Cover photo by my heartjoy @samtemple)