Who Remains
Who remains, when you let go of everything. From origin to status, your whole story. When only your name is left. But who or what else remains in you that still lives. And what remains outside. Who expects what from you. Or what do you want others to see in you. When you’ve realised that your life so far was a string of opportunities you happened to notice. Which feels passive, because you can’t shake the impression that active shaping might have been better.
Out of this can come that moment in life where you leave the past and set out to change yourself. Aim for new horizons and go. Not passive, but active. You can also miss this moment and keep going as before. Or the voice is simply too quiet to even recognise it. Another way would be to actively bring the moment about. In the end it doesn’t matter. What’s central are the questions themselves and the attention you bring to them. Don’t look for an answer, stay with the question. Sounds abstract, but it can be experienced very present.
When I wrote this text I was in such a moment. Deeply caught in the questions. The poet David Whyte once said you have to endure this space to develop. Intuitively, I did something else. I flung the questions away from me, without looking for answers. That sounds like escape, but it was the opposite: I felt directly that answers wouldn’t help me. Thank you, David. You confirmed that the decision was right. Leave the questions be, don’t look for answers. But then what? Writing.
I kept a diary and wrote the questions out. They stand here, as a trace of this moment. As a trace of many moments.
Is anyone there for you. Does anyone hold you.
Do you wish for something. Do you wish for feelings. Do you not like your feelings. Because they don’t help you.
Can you ask someone. Someone who knows what you don’t know. What you haven’t learned. Because you never consciously looked at it. What was only shown to you. And you accepted it.
Does anyone look at you while doing so.
Does anyone want something from you. Is anyone trying to sell you something.
What do you smell. What do you feel. What do you taste.
Who am I now. Can I answer that. Or can I only live in it. Without an answer. Without a hold. Without myself.
Can I choose. Can I invent. Can I breathe.
Do I have a past. Will I get a future. Does the present help me.
Do I feel hunger. Do I feel desire. For love. Is that love.
Do I regret. Do I remember.
Can I change.
Do I want to answer the question. Or am I better off running from it.
How long can I still ask the question. How much time do I have left. How long does a question without an answer even last.
Does anyone help me. Does anyone hold me.
Does the sunbeam reach me.
What comes after. When I can no longer ask. Is that the end. Is the end the answer. Is the answer the beginning. Of what.
Is there still a beginning. Or was it already the end. Is there anything beyond the end.
Can I ask the question while I live in a moment. Or am I already at the end.
You ask yourself the question alone. Then you are alone. I leave you alone. I give you the question. I don’t ask it for you.
Who were you up to this point.
A perception by other people. An interaction. Exchange.
Are you more than that. Are you more than what others think of you.
Are you what you want to show. Are you the one others are supposed to see. Are you a figure you created yourself. A figure you created so that you would be perceived.
How do you want to answer the question. Do you want to create a new figure. Are you already starting.
Does that answer your question. Who you are. When nothing is left.
Can you decide that. Can you choose. Can you recreate. Or is the story missing. The history. From origin to yesterday.
Because today you are no more.
Who do you want to be tomorrow. Will there be a tomorrow. Do you have the strength. Or do you want to return to what you are.
Then delete this question. It may be you don’t understand it.
Better delete it, if you can’t carry it.
Not everyone needs to ask these questions. And not everyone who asks them needs to answer them. The space between is the real work. Don’t listen to the outside if the inside hasn’t told you anything yet. Wait.
How these texts are written is explained here.