The Otiose Undertaking

Finally, I see the futility of it all. I kept pouring myself out hoping that in due course, over years maybe I will empty myself and move on. Little did I know, that no matter how much I let out, life would pour the venom right back in.

This body is but an empty vessel, susceptible and vulnerable. The mind, during its lapses, bequeaths the body a reason to plod on, a failing hope, a miserable, wretched motivation to live through another day, survive another ordeal, bear another blow.

When nights mingle with the day, they corrupt and malign the first rays that come in. The eye is accustomed to the dark and doesn’t believe in the Sun when it rises. For the fiendish light to establish its identity, it must gain strength and penetrate the layers of the skin with its heat. The blood must first boil to shoot from the eyes. The sight must first be lost before one can learn to visualize.

I dreamt of a scorpion last night. I was at my house, sitting by its ruins when it came out of the ground and flew, yes flew, past me to the skylight. I waited for it to come back and sting me but it did not. Maybe it wanted me to reach out and feel its lash. I woke up before I could feel the bite and knew that it was time for fresh starts.

The pawns of prosaic social web now seem overbearing – both to the intellect and the soul. I no longer seek readers, listeners, friends or acquaintances and can no longer pull myself together to fake another obligatory smile. I am tired. My quest has worn me out sooner than I thought it would. Perhaps it’s time to lay the bones straight and rest.

When the leaves fall this autumn, they will blanket the ground where I once walked. I will leave no trails or footprints behind. There are no addresses or names anymore. With me, I promise, I will take everything – my memories and yours.

We got hold of a thin plank to keep ourselves afloat for a little while but it was never really a second chance at life. The wreck was destined and no matter how much you deny, you knew it as much as I did. This voyage concludes here for me, at the bottom of the sea. This life was the otiose undertaking, this journey - all wasted.