A blinking cursor. An empty screen. Nothing to do but stare. Nothing to do but sit. Nothing to do but wonder why there’s nothing to do, nothing in your head, nothing to think about or fret about or worry about. Nothing. Just nothing.
At first, the heart was beating too rapidly. Chemicals were coursing through your veins. Fearful little chemicals that made your brain buzz and your breathing shallow.
I must, I must, I must you kept thinking. I must, I must, I must.
But you mustn’t.
All I have to do is sit here. All I have to do is sit here.
Let my arms go limp. Let my mind slip down. Let my breathing return to normal. Let my heart rate even out.
There’s nothing and I have nothing and I am nothing, but even that is something. Relax. Stay calm. Trust.
It’s all about trust. It’s all about trust.
The beast is trying to convince you otherwise. The beast is trying to tell you that it’s all about fear.
You have to do something, it warns you. You have to get going, it says. You have to read something, listen to something, do something, write something, draw something, do something. You can’t just sit there, doing nothing, saying nothing, gaining nothing.
You are dying, it screams. And you are. But what of it?
Are you going to stop living because you know that you are dying? Does that make sense?
Is that living? To thrash about? To run amok?
Every time you run off to turn on the TV or grab a book or pump some music in your ears you’re like a drug addict striving to find some happy chemical to inject in your veins.
Why are you always using? Why are you always self medicating? Why can’t you just stop and be for awhile?
What would be the harm? Will the world stop spinning? Will you fall asleep and never wake up?
What is all of this? What is all this thrashing and shaking?
Today, birds were chirping and cars were passing by. A plane flew overhead, releasing a low pitched gurgle. Propellers were turning. Engines were firing. Trees were growing below your level of awareness.
You are on a planet and you’re failing to enjoy it.
I am in love. It’s good to be in love. I am in love. I am in love. And if, by chance, I’m not, then I ought to be.
When did we stop falling in love? When did it become a waste of our time? Why?
I want to fall in love again. It’s not that hard. You just shut up and listen. You just relax and look. There’s so much to fall in love with.
Maybe that’s the purpose of life: to fall in love. We survive, but to do what? To fall in love.
We eat and we drink and we get our sleep so we can live another day, but what are we going to do with that day? Fall in love.
Fall in love. Fall in love. Fall in love. Fall in love. Fall in love.
Is this the secret? Is this what we forget to do when we’re wrapped up in fear? Fall in love.
Fall in love. Fall in love. What do those words mean? How can I fall in love?
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