Time is a storm in which we are all lostWilliam Carlos Williams
Once upon a time I used to be obsessed with timestamps and the progression of an XML into data through physical and virtual time. I was obsessed with how this data was stamped, how long each process took.
Each timestamp was a bookmark between one process and the next.
And I’m trying to timestamp the moment when I decided that everything became purposeless. That hope died. That dreams were placed in the shredder. When there was nothing left to inspire, colour or bring life to life. In the hope that this might pinpoint why I felt that way.
And funnily enough, like that once upon a time. It wasn’t an event, it was a series of events one running from each to another.
All that tells me that denial is a river straight through the soul; ending in cataclysmic collapse and acceptance. For a long time I had been in denial; denial that I wasn’t really enjoying myself and denial that I couldn’t chose to change.
For several days I have been sitting in front of a sign requesting that I stand up. There is no up. There is no standing, sprinting, running, panic. There’s no waving my arms in the air.
I just don’t care. In the summer sun I slowly laid down, removed the twigs from beneath my back and let my eyes fall shut. They gently closed, as the branches above me rustled, flickering the warmth of the sun across my face. I felt my body fall through the floor as I fell limpless and asleep.
This was bliss from the noise. This was bliss from every sign. This was bliss from the hustle of every person in the city. For every feeling. From emotional crowding and; emotional constipation. From the ache of my toes to the top of my neck. From every notification, email and nag.
I thought no matter what; there is always under this tree. I was resigned. I am resigned. I will be resigned. There is not a single desire in me to energise, to feel desire, to want or need.
Because well and truly under that tree. What I was really experiencing was my true nature. Nothing matters. Everything is noise.
One of those timestamps I have wanted to understand for a long time was my medical past. I’ve been browsing through my newly arriving medical records. They are broken, incomplete and spread all over the place, like my memory.
And if I am to read them as the only history it would make a very one sided history of… GP notification, GP to do something. From event to event. Drama to drama. Place to place. All I sense is my pain. All the notes refer to is dehydration, blood tests and refer to GP.
Any perspective or insight, offers no validity to the experience of the experience of becoming those timestamps.
The sum of that output: nothing. Exhaustion. A self reflection, a reminder that this is my own ego seeking importance and attention. And a reminder I am nothing, no one, invisible, silence. The penultimate state of releasing ego.