The Words I Never Said // A Collection of Essays

Letter #5 // How blessed we are to be limited

Dear Friend,

It's been some time since my fingertips, guided by a tickling neural impulse, slid over the surface of this keyboard. Writing without the intention of proving something is not easy. And it — writing — is still the only way to take up anything. It is the only way to not stray from the smudgy lines that mark the limits of sensible judgment.

An even harder thing is writing this letter in such a way that it would assume some kind of sensible form. I've already lost all hope in obtaining even milligrams of rationality. On the other hand, now I am more grounded than ever. All this time I just flew, just rose upwards, reached my hands into space, dreaming of some existence beyond, aimed to cross the boundaries between dimensions, using the power of my mind as the main weapon, a dagger that could slash the shroud. As if not being able to shed thousands of legacies carried from my past, I embarked on a chain of sheer fantasies, and I never wanted to accept my limitations. If I were to meet the past me, I'd gently stroke her head and remind her that in this incarnation she's just three-dimensional. However unacceptable that'd seem. 

Of course, we could discuss the synchronicity of the Universe or the meaningfulness of my complex experience, but that's not what I'd like to write to you about. I never doubt the value of mistakes and I'm not going to look back to the past with pity. I simply wish to fully feel my plunge because of which my sides are mottled with bruises and scars that'll, hopefully, forever remind me of the wisdom I gained. Did Lucifer also hurt as much when he fell? Is it bad that the archetype of satan, of a fallen angel, stirs curiosity and empathy in me instead of being repelling? I can clearly imagine his fall, the result of expressing his individuality. And I could understand if he ever missed the heavens. And I could also start an entire discussion on whether rising towards the clouds is worth it at all, or perhaps whether simply soaring under them, watching the spectacular views of the planet below, and perceiving the intoxicating tangibility of life is enough.

Humans are not one hundred percent free. It's something to be glad about. Elementary limitations of the three-dimensional world help us feel the force of gravity and not fly out of the solar system. Our ankles connect with our Earth by untearable, stretchy threads. And I rose above, rushing to infinity, my bond lengthened, stretched out, I sensed the air thinning, my lungs wheezing from the lack of oxygen, my skin stinging from the ultraviolet rays; all of that joined into a growing sense of euphoria as if I was becoming freer and freer from my body. And then I stopped. A ghostly expression of horror froze on my face with the realization that the thread, rooted into my leg tendons, reached its maximum elasticity. I come back to myself, and I see myself shooting down at the speed of light. My mind gets clouded, all physiological senses earlier denied and suppressed by mental processes overflow like a tsunami wave, and for a moment I am frightened by death. It's funny how up there, in the heavens, death was just an intriguing abstraction, investigations of which would simply evoke a smile of contentment. But here, as you're blindly falling down and you feel every single cell of your body shaking, breaking down, as you watch the little battery icon in your peripheral view showing a rapidly decreasing percentage of your existing energy, you think: "Is it finally time?"

So this is what happened. Like a rubber band pulled back to its maximum capability and then suddenly let go, my three-dimensional identity proved it won't break, not yet. However invincible my mind seemed, it was and is no more than the result of processes that take place in my body. Without the elementary corporeal world, I am nothing. Perhaps I could be some intangible soul floating somewhere, but hardly would I be able to comprehend that. Precise processes that happen in our brains are not yet known probably because their workings surpass or maybe even contradict the scientific principles we came to believe. And hence my metaphors are no more than philosophies of a limited, enchained earthling. I admit this, yet there's nothing else I can do.

Now I am on the very surface of the Earth. Soil is silently exhaling under my feet. How strange. Down here it's a lot quieter than up there, in that absolute emptiness. Tendons in my legs are painfully throbbing after being overstretched. I don't stand up. There's no strength for that. My head is still blissfully spinning, I don't quite understand where's up and where's down and don't even get me started on left and right. And yet somehow sitting in this mud feels a lot livelier than hanging up there in nothing, hallucinating. 

Truthfully, it's an unusual feeling. I presume newborns feel this way. Harsh, unsettling world, chest aching with every burning breath. And everything is so tangibly real.

I'll have to learn to live as a human, not some chaotic abstraction. This is the only possible way to exist here. And I still want to exist. It's kind of fascinating, just like the fall of Lucifer. After all, he also fell from infinite space not subjected to time — from an illusion — to earthly reality, right? Interesting, how people called this place hell. Life is not hell. It's just very literal. It doesn't wait, doesn't question, and doesn't compromise. It's limited, but it's defining. It's not stagnant at all, in fact, it's actively moving. Nowhere else can exist such stagnation that resides in complete euphoria, emptiness, and nothingness. How funny that this was where I pushed towards, imagining I was running away from a suffocating stillness.

That's that. I am still alive. I'm breathing, even if it's through some pain. And I'm not going to stop. You could say I discovered a novel breathing technique: inhaling and exhaling instead of mocking something along the lines of that. 

How about you? How have you been doing, filling up your body with oxygen? Also, have you experienced similar spasms in all the tendons in your body? I'd be quite interested to hear about that.

See you soon.

— Your Friend.

(March 4th, 2021)