There was a time when I wanted to be free but then I realized it wasn’t easy. The stranglehold of circumstances was forcing me to react rather than take charge of it. I tried to fight it as there was a time when I wanted to be courageous but then I realized that courage was just a measure of how desperately you wanted to shield your cowardice.
I believed in my capacity of being happy. Emotions or feelings were not what who I am, merely symptoms for those capable of seeing…to understand who I am. ‘I’ stood alone…distant from feelings…from fear…from mediocrity…from the monstrous virtues of the world…‘I’ stood free...‘I’ stood because of ‘I’ existed…I survived…I loved every bit of it…not the spiritual enlightenment…I never believed in it but loving the very physical aspect of my existence…taking pride at the capacity of being able to look at myself with a detached pride.
I met a woman.
The feeling was not tender…the feeling of was not of a loving companionship…mellow and mild…it was a volcanic eruption of the shaking the very principles of my existence, it was the feeling of ownership and the feeling that I would gladly subjugate every bit of me to that which was mine and still the victory would be mine…
Victory…I know it is an unlikely word to use while talking of love…but you see, I do not believe in love as you believe in it and it doesn’t matter to me if you cannot identify with it…what for you is the base ‘lust’ is for me the crowning glory of my love…the celebration of my life…the exaltation of our existence.
She mocked me.
She held me at her power. She owned me. She knew that I who took pride in my power to be ‘I’ would stoop…would bargain anything and still want her …she teased me as a passing pastime not even worth a second glance…she insulted me and each insult, to me was a kiss sealing our bond. She broke me. There was no joy in her victory, but we could not exist together. She was too free and I wanted her to fly in my sky. She broke me because I was weak…She broke me because she understood that I needed to be broken.
She broke me…so I love her.
I know my love for her is worse to her than being lashed with a spiked whip…she bleeds.
We both travelled across a thousand blades, detesting each other…fighting each other and yet holding on desperately as if to our last lifeline.
Then, she broke apart.
The purpose in my life was gone and I was the most depraved being—the man without a purpose, yet somewhere I knew I had it in me. My strength was the ability to act…I had lost it. For months, I did not even look for it seeking refuge in the revoltingly cheap consolations…nothing really can be done…nothing really makes a difference…you have done your best…or the worst of all…everything will be alright.
Along came a friend, not with the sympathy of a brutal killer but with the harsh discipline of a military general and with an assurance that almost seemed like an absolute truth…that the answer lies inside…and then I searched. It wasn’t easy, it was as if the universe conspired against me, the grief lay heavy on my heart, the barbaric betrayals drove me violent bursts of anger yet I found the calm…as now I could act, now I knew the way, everything was easy. My friend held on. The pain of my effort finding expression in her face and the strength of her belief finding expression in my steady defiance... Greed--- that is the virtue…I discovered. The greed to be the best, to achieve what we can without compromises…without consideration of the unworthy have-nots because by being the best is how we can ‘best’ serve individuals………society does not exist, individuals do…and the only way to respect their existence is by respecting mine because if I don’t make a difference, who will? Now, I am greedy…
Again, I ask myself now…what do you want?
To be free, answers the friend inside.