On karma

What goes around comes around. I’ve been feeling just that lately. A reversal of emotions so overwhelming it has brought me to my knees. A year and a half ago I was standing on the opposite shore, impervious to the voices around me. Now I find myself drowning on land. It’s always more terrifying when the fear stems from inside of you. It cripples you in ways you never thought possible. You begin to conduct a retrospective investigation of all that you’ve done and all you’ve made others feel. How when you were the one being neglectful, distant, and unyielding, others stood in front of you longing for something you were either unable or unwilling to give them. 

And now? How does it feel now? Hostile? Vengeful? Punitive? No, it’s none of those things. Just as I was not acting on those back then. It is life; a role switch of humane proportions. I’m wallowing inside a black pool of tears and call it heroism, when it is nothing more than self pity. So shut the fuck up, grow a pair, get out of that pit, and move the fuck on. This has been my prayer these past few months. These have been the words I’ve been trying to convince myself of while splashing around in my own self-imposed gloom. 

These past few days, though, I managed to at least stand up. My hands are dry now, my hair still dripping, chilling my shoulders, running down my feeble spine. I stand naked, waist-deep in salty waters. I cannot let my hands down; I’ve raised them above my head, and I am walking. I’m walking as if someone’s holding a gun to the back of my head, urging me to move towards an unknown direction. But then again, in here, everything is unknown. Everything is dark. No exit visible, no path either. I don’t want to look around any longer. I’ve had enough. 

The gun holder pushes the weapon against my skin, between my second and third cervical vertebrae. She is silent, but I can faintly feel her breath reach me when she exhales heavily. The particles feel familiar. We walk for what feels like days, and my surroundings remain the same, but I can feel that she knows where she’s going. I trust her. She’s led me before; just never with a bullet. 

My hair is dry, I’ve tied it in a tight samurai bun. I am dehydrated, but I do not feel thirst, or hunger. I am empty, but ready to be filled again. Open somehow. Willing. She taps the gun on my right shoulder. I understand that she’s motioning me to stop. And then she disappears. 

I turn around. I know where I am. I’ve been here before. I walk up the ladder, and reappear. 

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