Seeds

I’m not settled or clear. Neither do I have a visible path in front of me. I’m landing by instruments through a dense fog against cross wind.

All I have is a subtle glimpse of curiosity about what’s on the other side. The other side of all this suffering. I expect it to end someday, somehow. Believing this is my only chance. Thinking otherwise would mean ceasing to exist.

I try to plant seeds. I have no clue whether they will sprout or what they can produce. I try to take unknown roads, drink from oddly shaped glasses, wake up in different schedules. I have nothing to lose. Most is lost anyways.

I also lost the fear of physical pain almost completely. I can run miles even if I’m tired already. I no longer care. I can carry heavy weights with no apparent discomfort. I can endure ruthless dentist or painful needles in my chest. I’ve experienced greater pain anyway. Pain that makes physical ones almost irrelevant.

I’m curious but I’m fighting. Fighting not to lose sight of myself. Keeping me from running away, downstream.

I need the seeds to feed this curiosity. But I don’t know for how much longer I can keep waiting to harvest.