Each time I have reached out, past the edge of the precipice, and extended my hand to someone, it has been cut off. Not immediately, though. There has always preceded the amputation, a long and involved lesson. Each point in the lesson is a s sharp and wholly consuming in its pain, as is (will be) the loss of the hand.
But unlike others I see around me, after the long and scathing punishment and teaching, I am given back my hand, and I am obliged to stand and simply walk on. Millions of people each day are simply thrown over cliffs, never to return to the mortal coil. Still millions of others learn the wrong lessons, which cause them to crash into everything and everyone – and then walk out the door, none the wiser. Between these two groups, the latter is the saddest: these just wither, with each passing day, so subtle as to not draw their inward attentions. Then, at 40 or 50, they can not get out of bed – paralyzed for no apparent reason.
But me? It seems like I am enrolled in endless school, and I choose interesting electives – that’s all I can choose. And now I want to stop learning. Really, I do. Just find me a niche on the grid – assuming there is one – and let me ride this life out.
By the way, this is the last lessons I learned: when you leave someone who loves you, and whose trust you have gained, you should just leave them physically, if you must. Leaving someone emotionally is cruel – and artificial. We can’t really move around in the realm of emotions as we do in the physical world. There is no movement – just selective suppression of specific truths.
Seems kind of short, does it not? All this grief and suffering for that little tid-bit? Ok! Got it.
Did you get anything like that, out of this whole thing?