I never thought something so seemingly easy, could be so difficult. Life goes on, whether you believe you want it to or not, daily routines change and some remain the same. Possessions shift, diminish and grow, like the waxing and waning of the moon, yet it’s something inside that remains the same, grows stagnant and becomes placid with the passing of time.
It’s not a comfortable or welcome placidity, more like a comatose state of existence. You see, hear and feel the world rushing by, acutely aware of the secondhand on the clock ever spinning, and yet no matter how hard you try, you’re unable to step outside of yourself and join the living. So much is the mental trauma that it renders you physically helpless. Incapable.
How does one get past this? Where do you bore the external hole to relieve the pressure that’s constantly building; the trapped spirit buried under the rubble, pushing from within, demanding to be set free? How is transformation even possible, when the solace of detachment is all that you seek?