Riddled with something, the Unseen. We label our consistencies inconsistent. We call our fears our “needs”. We succumb to the demons even before they wield a weapon, as we often have already cut ourselves before they even unsheathe their swords. The drama, the insecurity. All of those things we see as supporting the value of our existence.
Drama. The opposite of dharma even if it is just a few letters away. Like a monster’s grip on the heart, it strangles the life out of the afflicted and turns them into zombie creatures who feed on its existence. Like an enormous anchor to massive for the vessel that carries it, the ship sinks even before voyage begins. The zombies won’t drown in that sea, they will simply feed off the jetsam stuck in the ebb and flow of waves that can’t find a shoreline.
I just wish to live. In peace. In love. In the stoic way my journey has given me. I don’t want your baggage, your demons, your tireless attempts to wallow in the muck of failed patterns. I will be seen by those whose eyes have opened, and hope to remain unseen by those who still can only see tomorrow, the end, at the sacrifice of the Now. I will not sacrifice my moment to your fear, even if it means you will hate me.
To that end I regain my dreams, and promise not to burden you with them. I will walk patiently in my moment and have nothing to do with the attempts of dragging me into spaces that I have no business visiting. This is my story, and I’d kindly ask you to keep your fingers on your own keyboard.
Thus the demons, unseen as they are, laugh and slither away. They will be back, I am sure.