Eleven months have passed since I last shared my daily happenings with you. I would like to believe you still have an awareness of my life, its goings on, as it is a very nice belief that you are somewhere, out there, looking down on the world with moments of concern and pride. But it doesn’t seem likely – the idea of an everlasting paradise does not seem to be very compatible with the reality of a single human lifetime of consistent blunders, fuck-ups, and occasional virtuous actions.
I find myself struggling a lot with life and death, trying to make sense of it all. Trying to make sense of what is the exact point of it all.
Usually, when contemplating the idea of ultimate truth, I would find myself (“my” “self”) in a whitespace, devoid of form but brimming with energy of potential function. Recently, I’ve found myself in a bluespace, where neither actually exist. No form. No function. A simultaneous state of existence and non-existence. This is where I asked myself the question: Why, if I know that my attachments cause suffering, do I still struggle to let go of you?
The answer came to mind surprisingly fast. When I considered you, your form, your actions, your behaviors, and your love, all I felt was love and sadness. The sadness was not painful – it was a simple recognition of the state of separation. So if this isn’t the origin of the pain, what is? Diving deeper, I realized that it is not you, nor the loss of you, but the loss of a mistaken expectation that we would have a long future together. It is my sense of entitlement to that mistaken expectation. It is my attachment to a “truth” which did not, and does not, actually exist.
And what am I to do to ease my grasp on something which did not, will not, ever exist?
Graeme Bones Writes Things 