Coming Back To Life Again

Riley Coules
May 22, 2017

Disconnected.

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How to convey the sovereignty of this one mentality, that which modifies the intensity of all others, suppressing the desirable and amplifying the loathsome? Love for loved ones, lust for experience, optimism for the future, passion for personal endeavors, cravings for life–subdued. Repressed. Masked by an inability to feel.

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With no semblance of the self to navigate, and no sense of normalcy to caretake, ruination curtails the ability to live and confounds the reasons why an individual would ever want to.

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Every moment is spent looking to the next, for the worth of now cannot be grasped. Numbness thwarts every connection that could be had, for which there is no meaning. What is the purpose of existence, if not passionate occurrence? Suffering stifles the capacity to flourish in every context possible: the mind enslaves, the body enslaves, and the soul agonizes along with them. Heavy physical disturbance incarcerates all facets of the being, spawning only lack but very rarely enough.

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Trapped.

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Bound to a body driven by disorder and sustained by lost hope, she who suffers cannot escape the torment of perpetual anguish. Fear prompts all behavior, confining the realm of possibility, of opportunity, to the few modalities that bring “comfort”, miserable renditions of what? She cannot remember. So many layers of strife subjugate the vitality that could be had, would be had, if only present encumbrances permitted the satisfaction of the earthly being; but without the forward motion of cure to modulate, and only the static stupor of oppression to curtail, security is sought vehemently.

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The themes of escapism and suppression remain, those that incited present disquietude, only now they pertain to affairs that once brought joy. These affairs provoke instability in ill-health, and rarely exult as numbness cannot stimulate fulfillment. Because the mind cannot avoid reflections of ferment within, all external threats to tranquility must be forgone, including people [including love]. As the realm of acceptable behavior dwindles, her sanity does too; isolation necessarily darkens the already-dulled.

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Alone. 

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So alone, all the time. No family, no friends, not even the sense of self to bring her home. Desperate for freedom, desperate for youth, desperate for the mind that once was but hasn’t been in years–where does she even start to make sense of it all? How to recollect on the former when the fog of now, the fog of the next moment, the fog of the foreseeable future warps all interpretation? The jaded psyche cannot remember what it is like to merely exist, to rejoice, to dream without impediment. Utter confusion promotes stasis, for the goal cannot be grasped. With no one to turn to, and only the hindered mind to conciliate, a means to stability must be concocted lest anguish endure. Emotion, then, must be unraveled, layer by layer; faith will propel.

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What do humans have but perception?

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Perception is everything, happiness is everything, waking everyday to a balanced mind and body is everything. Manifesting this reality may suffice short-term, but adversity cannot and should not waste an entire existence. All that has been learned, all that has been fought for should eventually amount to bliss because this bliss is deserved. Yes, humans are entitled to homeostasis, and so nature, the purveyor of wisdom, compels them to heal. Disorder may necessarily exacerbate lesser qualities, which must then be conquered (layer by layer), but a purist lens spurs focus beyond the self. Earthy offerings support the fruition of the higher via their installment of sight at one’s lowest; the ability to see then becomes permanent.

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When recovery disengages every facet of disconnection, awe characterizes every evaluation of the world around: This is what it is like to live? This is what it is like to breathe? This is what it is like to relish in a single moment, free from the turmoil of hyperactive reflection? So much suffering, so much darkness has been replaced by ecstasy and the mind cannot fathom the intoxication of sensation. How long? How long has it been since the present has been felt, since the warmth of now has been able to engulf the soul in euphoria? Her perception has been altered, but this time in a progressive direction. It is inconceivable, indescribable, and infinite. It is emotion.

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The world is now full of light, of opportunity, and youthful excitability has made a comeback. Only now the fresh mind is backed by experience, her knowledge of hardship, due to which precious moments can be savored even more. Every reflection features reverence–every utterance, a thank you; this kind of wholeness she has never known, she is sure. All that is yearned for is equilibrium, but more has been enacted… What can be cherished more than this?

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Death is still not feared–but living, desired. 

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How to convey what it is like to come back to life again?