Not every day is the same. We view each day through different tinted lens. Lens that are shaded a particular color. That color is based upon many factors. How we feel… does our body ache or feel good, are there easily definable pinpoints of stabbing pain or a just general over body ache? How well our mind is processing information… have the clouds lifted and thoughts flow, do they focus on a particular thing, a past memory, or are they long lost in a field of fog, drifting randomly like a leaf in the wind? Even dreams from the previous night can have an impact upon the next day. Is there still lingering images from the previous night’s slumber? Were they good things we dreamed of such as a vacation to a tropical island, where we lay upon a beach with sand inbetween our toes, the warmth of the sun beating down, softly caressing every inch of our body? Were they nightmares of yesteryear, moments of life we urgently wish we could forget, or perhaps new phantoms that chase us through garish rundown buildings that lay in wait, hoping to crash down upon us?
The many things that can effects the color of the lens through which we view our lives, are so varied and in constant flux, that listing all them would be an exercise in futility. So let us not continue down this path, for in the end, we all have 15 billion other things we could deem more worthy of doing. Lets just accept the simple fact that everyday our view of the world is changed by interal influences that we are often not aware of.
I won’t go into this next concept too deeply but I shall dip my toes into the water briefly, and say casually, that there are obvious external influences upon our view of the world, each and every day. Things others, can and often do, change our view of the world. This is perhaps more obvious to most. Other people have an impact upon us, to be certain. Some more than others but in the end, no matter how well we have trained our minds, into believing that what others say and do matters not, some of it still manages to creep in. Like little microscopic bugs, their words and deeds sink into our flesh and poison us. Fill our mind with the things from past, present, and future, that we do not wish to dwell upon, yet have no power within to stop the thoughts from spiraling down. Down, deep down, into the dark recesses of our mind. Filling the dark cracks and expanding them, until there is nothing left but darkness.
That external stimuli combined with an internal dialogue, throw us into an abyss of sadness. Sadness, so deep, our very bones weep with the pain. This pain pulses and each pulse grows increasingly more intense until a cresendo of agony; a cresendo of sadness is reached and the only thing we now desire is to escape. For all thoughts and feeling to cease. We begin to wish, for the one and only thing, we know for certain will end them both. We seek to die. We beg for it, plead for it, we scream for it. And after all the begging, pleading, and screaming, has ceased, because we no longer have a voice for it. It comes. The release from the madness finally arrives. The numbness drips in and fills us. It makes us immune to it all. No more pain, no more sadness, no more memories or nightmares or anything. Just a dark, lonely, cold numbness.
But, until the sweet comfort of the numbness arrives, we must bear out the dark day. Until it arrives, we must relish and even embrace it, for a moment or two. Because even in that dark time, we are at least still feeling something.