Suicide

The path is one of losing, why not lose everything at once deliberately? What is the driving force that brings tomorrow? Is there a tomorrow?

My conversations with the great spirit often comes from pain, I say, ‘I do not need it, I do not want it, to hell with it; I only wish to return home...’

Pain, you see, greys your hair, sickens you, and moves you to the edge; why not appreciate its doings and jump? Death is no longer frightening to me, it is only a delight, and I often tell the great spirit to give it to me or I shall take control of my life for once. What pain, you might ask. The pain of a ghost resisting to the notion that there is everything and nothing; I am a ghost among people, yet everything else in nature welcomes me, and this began to unfold as I learnt to talk with stray dogs; I am a ghost in a realm that consists of pure joy and absolute pain, and the joy only reveals itself when you can relax into the pain of non-existence, and when that happens, every morning you are reborn, every cup of tea is the first you ever had, flowers smile at you, the wind and the trees sing and dance with you, ice warms you...

I wish to call my mother, and say to her, ‘Mother, an adult woman came out of my womb. She hates my tears as I hated yours; she does not believe me as I never believed you. I have not seen her lately, but when I close my eyes, I can see her; when she laughs, I can hear, as if the navel string is still attached, and I should cut it so I do not have to endure the pains of a mother.’

But the waves are so powerful I cannot ease into them, for I am rigid, I want control...

I am a ghost that needs to be freed, but I cannot free myself. The thought of losing everything at once calms the waves in me; two things distract me from that thought: one is that I see miracles almost everyday, and two, I cannot lose the pain, it will only be given to others, those who love me, as though the pain can only move from one place to another. I tried to bury this pain, yet no soil can bury it, no jar can contain it, no ocean can drown it, it is sitting in me ever present, ever so powerful, and I do not wish to give it to anyone, for I am a friend. Although, I have found a power that gives me the promise of pacifying it, I cannot harness the power, and no western thought can come to my aid... English is the only language I know well, and it cannot express even the surface of which I am enduring.

If I will need to take the only direction I can see now, I shall leave a note that would read, ‘You have been supportive all along. Please, support this one, also.’

The waves are so powerful, its joys are better than anything, its pain is worse than hell.