Wonderings.

Do you believe in fate?

Do you, as you lay on your bed and close your eyes, think about your present, and ponder on the myriad moments that have coalesced to create it?

Do you wonder if there is an order to your living?

When you close your eyes, discontent in your reality, and pray to sleep, is it helplessness you feel when you wrestle with your sanity, try to hijack it from the grasps of a you that is stronger than you, and find that you cannot keep it?

Does it make you think of the others that you have, like your sanity, lost control over, because of independent actions that were dependent on elements that you ultimately could not control?

When you feel the furthest from yourself, aware of a drift from what you have always known as your core, do you contemplate the absurdity in the illusion of being the conductor of your own existence?

How many times have you found yourself on the edge, how many times has it felt like you were right on the precipice?

How many times have you fantasized about the feeling that is the graze of the nothingness of the world that would come just before you breathe your last?

Do you allow yourself wonder about the realm that lies at the brink of the world’s void?

the still that is at the very edge of the world’s emptiness? the seconds of awareness that marks the beginning of your end?

How many times have you caressed your skin, and wondered about it being the last time? Picking the hairs on it, running your hands over yourself.

again. and again. and again.

Do you wonder about the scars you do not remember getting? Do you wonder about the ones you remember getting?

When you touch yourself and you feel the soft, the thick.

When you remember the soft that used to be the thick, do your eyes gather with tears as you mourn the self that had an unending delight about the world? About its people? About the magic you could realise in anything?

Do you wonder about how you are never able to find home in the new you have become, how you never can relax in the grey that is the cloak you currently cannot take off?

Do you cradle yourself?

When your heart is filled with a loathsomeness about who you have become, do you stay still, and seek reassurance in pain?

How many times have you tested the blade on your skin? The top row of your teeth almost as if in harsh loving with your bottom lip as you caress the edge of the blade on the wispy hairs that move as you dictate, almost in fear for your conceived action, as you still yourself for the bite of a cut that you hope goes deeper than your skin?

Do you remember the motions? A stilling of your breath. A forced calm. A readiness for a pain you know you must feel if you are to embrace the freedom that comes with the cut.

A reminder to self that the pain from biting your lips must not overshadow, or dim the pain of the first cut.

The first cut is where the delight is. It is where freedom runs free.

The first cut is our reward. It is your freedom. And when a red appears as you are running the blade on your thighs, still anticipating without conscious action, you chastise yourself for the distraction, and you mindlessly use the back of your palms to clean the blood. You do not concentrate on the beginnings of a gathering of pain in that particular area. That was not the first cut. You cannot afford to be distracted from the reality of the moment. You must be aware of it.  

And so your eyes close, you ready yourself for a fearful thrill.

You slant the object in your fingers, and then, you enter the cold embrace of the pain.

---

Subconsciously, I have a belief in myself, my gods, ori mi. I believe that it fights for me. It fights to keep me here, even when I do not know to fight for me. As such, it is like I participate in the living with the knowledge that my ori would never let me fall, even in my falterings.

Her hold on me, her binds on my neck is slight, yet strong.

I am aware of it, and she is content to let me do life with an absent knowledge of her binds. There is a story here, indices that demonstrates her hold better, but I am content to not write further on it in this page.

But I breathe even in the pain, because I know that she will not let me take on a burden more than I can carry. I do not know what I can carry, but often, just before the bottom of the ocean begins to look beautiful from my spot at the edge of the cliff, she welcomes a reflection that electrifies my body, and it is a distraction that takes many shapes, and comes in many forms. She welcomes new situations, and she keeps them present, and exciting, to take my attention from the bottom of the black.

She would hold my hands, and she would guide me back to a version that welcomes beautiful motions even in the unending doleful stills.