0x9649e370…4a13sent to0xfd16f4a0…34d9·#19,876,325·view on Etherscan
0x9649···4A13THIS IS A WAR
- Diary Entry 1
- The Infant
I sit and hold my breath. It gives me a moment, a flicker in time where I hold not only my breathing, but everything. Where the world stops for as long as I can take it, for as long as my body can do without its vital elements, and just…be…
The world, it shifts around me with all its spikes and tension, with all its ebb and flow. With all its wonder and joy, with all its bile and hate.
I hold for the longest possible time in this place, a metaphor of personal significance.
Somewhere I can keep it all still, everything out there, everything in here.
I can see the sides now, the positioning of the world and its possibilities. Here, where all change may occur, where, for the purest of moments, no other change can happen.
Here, the sides are unmistakable.
I hold my hands out to the world to see the darkness and wind. The light and song.
A maddening helplessness, loss and nothing, and opposite, a profound security in self and being. Here, the world spinning around me, and I pause, holding and waiting for it. For that thing to come.
One hand, it carries greatness in the mote of universal dust, in streams of blinding light, in the timelessness of being. It crawls across me, my skin and mind, my brain and scalp. A golden thing, a tiny moment that provides perfect affirmation. Limitless, spelling out the infinite, indelible letters in a cosmic font that makes me immortal. Something I can do and will do, work to facilitate transcendence, art beyond the temporal limitations of my body, into the darkness, and beyond, into the light and further.
But I cannot take it, I cannot grasp it. The other hand, numbness added to the helplessness. Another natural space, another place that feeds the alternate creation. A singular moment as natural as any other when entered. The other side, a vaulted tier of horror. A place where there is no movement, only dread and human ruin. Dread that now crawls over skin, ice and nails, guiding me towards disaster. Weakness and fear.
I hold my breath.
I sit here, at rest. I reside here, holding equidistant from these polarities. From the greatness and the disaster, from the immortality and the nothingness. From being remembered, from being forgotten.
Balance here, in between two great fates, holding one in each hand, holding my breath. This is the unity, this is the road, as bright as blood, as dark as night, as cold as the universe, as warm as a mother’s embrace. Here, to consider whether I have the tools to find my way between the two, whether we can navigate at all, if there is anything to be done, other than simply surrender to that cold, endless dark, or if I can rise, and steal my future.
I let out my breath and whisper. “Why do you do this to me?” I look down at my hands. “Is this where I must rest?”
This awful fate. The paralysis that consumes. Where the product of everything is never enough, where the terror of even beginning paralyses to the point of nothingness. Hollow, all meaning lost, all reason gone, cowardice and oblivion.
“Why do you let me see these worlds, and sit me here, in the centre?” As if the universe itself owes me an answer. “Give me all or give me nothing, please.” I beg. “Do not make me stay here. I cannot watch others rise, I cannot even watch others fall. I need everything or nothing. Give me one or the other, do not make me watch both. Do not make me sit here to watch, numbed, unable to dance the cosmic dance, whether or not greatness would come. Only able stare, helpless, and watch.”
Here I sit, as I always do, in that place that is even worse, the state in between states. A tired mediocrity that binds me to these pleading words.
I breathe. “Speak to me, so I can know, so I can see, so I can walk the right road. So, I can walk any road at all.”
There is no answer.
There never is.
I breathe and watch the world as an outer reflection of my inner self. The place that must have the answers. A place that provides so much, in so many forms. Here I must begin, inward and outward, all or nothing.
Richard Galbraith