The story is the virus
I’m learning how to honour life by building a communication with it. This – for me – means especially: listening. Listening is one of the holiest acts there is – as I can see it at this time. I learn to listen to life by listening to its forms. I’ve not so long ago wrote that “Life sings in physical forms”. For me this was an actual technical description, even if it sounded poetic maybe. Life really communicates through physical forms. Everything around us speaks. Everything I touch, hear, see, taste and smell has a message, it is – in fact – telling something. All senses are basically translation devices. I hear with my tongue, I hear with my eyes, with my nose, with my body. All I am doing is to hear life speak to me through these sensory languages. I have been believing that physical forms, events, feelings, thoughts, etc are somehow severed islands, causal manifestations of action and reaction, static blocks of life, when in fact they are of a moving, almost liquid quality: everything physical is only sounds, everything is transmitting something, everything is basically singing. It’s somehow like I am attending an immense play held by the biggest orchestra ever invented: the orchestra of life.
And it’s up to me if I listen and pay attention to this song, this language. And for each soul life communicates a very intimate song. It’s like for each soul life is giving up a dedication. So I don’t see a holier experience at this point then learning to listen to what life has to tell me.
And the process of listening is by far an easy thing to do, for me at this point. So basically I am learning to communicate, to speak to life – by first learning to listen. Because as we all know communication is a two way process. So far I have been only using life to tell my side of the story. So far I have only spoke about my desires, my pains, my dreams, my vision, my needs and expectations. But I very seldom have given a chance for life to speak back. Or for me to listen. I was so keen on expressing, that I almost made no pause to also listen. So after all these eons of solo speaking I was having my throat sour, my lungs depleted and almost no knowledge of what life was also saying and doing. I have missed the most important part of being alive: listening.
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Life is a communication process. Being alive is an exchange. It is far from being one who always receives (listens), and one who always gives (speaks), but more of a two way open and active talk. And now after so much time of keeping my back away to life’s side of the story, I am almost in terror to turn my head around and see whats there. Really I am almost terrified. It seems beyond my abilities. How do I do this? I feel in shock when I lean the sightliest ear to life. She has a story so soooooo alien, so different, to tell me then the one I have been fantasising on in my mono dialogue. And this is one of the most profound and sensible parts about how I managed to stop listening to life: I started denying life when I started looking to hear what I wanted to hear, instead of what life was actually saying. My preference for my side of the story has handicapped me in hearing the real story life was telling.
This is the veil that has been portrayed in countless religions, philosophies and myths: looking for what I want to see. Hear what I want to hear. And then when I didn’t hear what I wanted to hear then is when I started to despise life for not giving me what I told myself I want. This is what the virus of this world is, actually: a story. A fabulated story to which our minds has been fantasising upon. The story is like a never existing siren with which we make unrealistically, incredible love, much better than to the partner we actually make love with. The story is the virus.
The story has captured me, has lured me into loving it more than the reality of life.
Inside the story I was king. In real life I was nothing. The story gave me the opportunity to finally be: something. A nice rest from the nothingness I really am.