There is a chaos that lives inside me. I don’t know how it got there, but when I turn my back to you in bed, it’s not because I feel a disconnect in my affection for you. It’s because the dark chaos has compelled me to turn away from everything and be with it, serve it with my feeble will and dying hope. It likes to draw me back to the confusion of being. It likes to show me that I am an insect with a high regard for life.
Last night I felt it pulling at my heart. Not the heart of emotion and glory and love and pain, but the heart of the artery, the rhythmic thing inside my ribcage. That lump of muscle – gold under flesh. The dark chaos was saying things to me that must go unspoken. It was working as a doctor would work. It was hiding important things from me. It knew more about my body and breathing life than I ever could without the use of Buddhism or deep trance mastery.
We envision ourselves changed after the larger milestones in life are reached. We see what we want to become and say that once we achieve the important things (the married life, the procreation, the career) that we will have reached the new development of self. That we will live a new life as a different person.
What the chaos was showing me as it tugged on my leash was that fundamentally, I’ll never change. There will always be a private room where I bounce off the walls alone and stare out the window at the ever rotating world. And that everyone has a room of their own, some quiet in design and peacefully containing, others rabid and free with anxiety.