By henrymartinhm, Jul 14 2017 01:07PM
There is an imbalance to him. He leans with fondness in many directions, but he feels deep inside him the inability (he holds like a secret) to commit to any person, place or thing. Not because of a fear, but because of programming, because of spiritual defeat whereby he cannot trust the shape or purpose of the world in which he moves.
Even before he embarks on a project, an adventure, anything, he knows he will not be a master, that even throwing himself into it (or because he is throwing himself into it) he will only ever expose himself and his many weaknesses—despite whatever treasures he might uncover.
He is always separated from the real world by a veil that stretches up and down and each side, so no matter how far he goes in any direction, he is always in the centre and incapable of reaching the other side where he might be subsumed and forgetful and confident and happy.
You might think this awareness he has of himself (of his condition) means he has a certain and slight power, or could achieve a clarity of direction of which way to move, or change his behaviour and be free? Not so. He knows that too many years have passed and he is a fully formed man and these flaws are the blocks that build up his being—the stuff of which he is made. The only way to change one thing is to destroy everything and leave nothing behind, no trace of him.
His sadness is that he will always try, and as he ages, the more he tries, the greater the chasm between the smile he forces and what is real and interior and increasingly lost in him.
He has already given up on himself, it must be said. It must be repeated: he has already given up on himself. Is it a choice? Or a slow and strong thing that happened to him?
It really doesn’t matter anymore.