A blissful day, and what a marvelous chance to catch sight of strangers in the park, those wide eying the surroundings with their drooling mouths. Mumbling deep hums from their throats to each other to feign the claptrap of interest in the weather. The freedom of open beaks and the loud gesticulations of uncontrollable fevers of excitement fills the air and affects each who enters. It is beautiful indeed, this view. It adds to the conceptions of that we do appear to move in a meaningful direction, it does. The smiles, the childish frolicker, the food, and the sheer positivity, ladies and gentlemen, sprinkles ecstatic delight over my being. Boys with sticks, dads opening cans, the park’s household gipsy playing the violin, and the train on the horizon that slowly clouds the clear sky. The sweet dancing odors of newborn flowers, flirting the nostrils, while the flowery vibrancy caresses my retina fully, but gently, as if recovering from the illness of winter. Winter..
Winter seems long ago now. Yes, the winter. The cold of which that made an impact on me of non-insignificant degree, for it turned the dagger in my heart and kept it in place, right here you see. Ignorant of the ripe fruit in my hands I longed for the rotten potatoes walking outside my store window, I did. Not long after that moment, and before I knew it, my soul ceased to be a part of me. And I became the empty, the cold and bitterness itself, unable to move a limb or a frown, and embrace the pain with something resembling vitality. With nothing left within, I thought, let me become, let me dig further in this shrilling stone, let me prolong this pain to a level of permanency and take over me fully. I’m nothing but pain, nothing but the lack of being touched by color; and thus I felt miserably void from anything human; this unshakeable unmistakeable thunder was not from what we dwellers inhabit. Forget food, water, breath, forget love; what I transformed to become was an unmoving piece of rock, a dense pack of concrete deprivation.
The golden breath of the wind touching my face stops me linger in this deep contemplation of what has been. It is now my intention, my intention alone you see, for someone to notice my current state. Perhaps slightly glimpse my horror of the natural longings. To look me straight in the grey eyes and observe a fellow being, one alike, not just look but see.. a man, and conceivably kindle a feeling of recognition. It is now that matters. Should I return to being human, it is I alone who is responsible, this venture nothing but a singular attempt towards life.
But will there be a body to recognize the attainment of myself. Is that the quest I’m aiming for. Fulfillment is what I myself should obtain from the endeavor to return, for what is achieved is only seen by oneself. There is not anyone on this piece of land that will come to you and query about this and that on those matters. Don’t you see it shan’t be given what I seek. Being reckless and all that would destroy you, my man, utterly splash you to dashes. Gaining attention by something so totally disregarded is a failed quest on beforehand. But maybe.. Life, it seems, is not that which matters most to you, friend, it is that which lives within others. Isolate oneself in the journey towards fulfillment and there is no human soul to notice it, to value it, to appraise those facts. Operate outside the social domain, outside competition, the realm of the value hierarchy, and be utterly alone.
The Realm of Indifference 