What am I doing here?

I wake up in a square space enclosed by painted white concrete, stained at the top. Exiled away from where I once was, I now rest in an entourage of strangers also exiled. I don’t know how I ended up here. One day, while going to my luxury porcelain shop, some weight fell on top of me at once. The weight that things had to change or else my soul could not take it.

Day after day on the city subway, nameless faces and faceless strangers lined the seats in, around and above me. So vapid was the scene that a man with a guitar playing a love song earned 50 euros merely for putting a smile on my face in the morning. Made me feel that birds were perhaps singing somewhere while the Sun was rising, far away from here. I quickly forgot that.

In the stock room of my shop, I saw porcelain pieces of all shapes and colors. All designs and ideas. Much like my mind, which always sought and envisioned beautiful things but never managed to make one truly its own, because that meant I had to say goodbye to the rest. Saying goodbye is much like being unable to choose amongst many beautiful things.

In my private enclosed space, I am comfortable. A nice square box made to enclose my mind neatly. A palliative careroom that houses and pacifies the hungers of the beast that lay dormant in my spirit.

But now it is awakening again. I lay in a hotel room armed with truths that set me free from slavery. Free from the prison I’ve constructed for myself. In my hands there is the key. But it’s always painful to open up that lock in me. Just knowing it’s there is torturous. Sometimes I just prefer the idea of remaining locked and buried. A handshake of carbon monoxide.

A part of me believes I am being tested by God. That he has armed me with these truths so I can surpass my narrow point of view and discover His path. That he has created these obstacles in my path so I can overcome them and enable my soul to embark on its true journey. That’s who I am. I believe in the spirit as the arc that we traverse under the bright lights of our consciousness. That it is our task to find the true mirror to ourselves God has left in the reflective hallways of our train of thought.

In some years time I may believe I was very naive. But the beauty of the mistake is that it comes from belief. Or else why bother living? Making somebody else’s mistake? For once, I’d like to live making my own.