The empty

If you get rid of all your energy, is it then gone?

I’d like to say of myself that I have deep lows, but I can’t. I’m more of a high guy. I don’t believe in balance in the sense that if you’re happy one day you’ll be sad the next. Not anymore. I regret it sometimes, that I don’t know the deep depression some people talk about. The one in which you can get stuck for a while. But it’s my luck.

There are times, however, when I consciously empty myself. Exhaust my energy, you could say. By ejaculating, drinking coffee and eating a lot. If I’d smoke, I’d definitely do that too. Today, I’m combining all of this with a museum and a cinematic compilation of psychedelic video clips. I’m indulging, and it wears me out.

What I’m actually trying to do is to turn of my mind. Why? It has nothing to be occupied with. No plan. I’m forcing holidays upon myself, only to discover that I cannot chill by force. So I overcharge. Blow a little fuse within.

I anticipate emptiness. Not the Buddhist emptiness that’s actually full or whatever, but the depth of a well from which I have to climb back up. By being out of control, I get once again carried by life.

And here’s the strange thing. Once I dive in this world of unhealthy, almost compulsive behaviour, dive in it with all of my being, something lifts me out. Or, even differently: there appears to be no well at all. It was just a dive. The world dove along. Nothing changed.

All I can do is carry on.


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