I am you. I am the other self. I'm a speck of stardust in the desert of being.
Beyond the social labels we hold, and job positions we've never earned, there is much more you can see in me which can reflect who you are more than who I am.
"If a tree falls in a forest and no one is around to hear it, does it make a sound?"
If I belong to a family and couple groups of friends, and a stranger passed by me and didn't notice that I was there, does that mean that I exist?
When I was few hours old, they gave me a name, an ID number, a religion and a family to belong to. A handful of information about an infant who is only good at giving a handful of shit. I've never asked for any of this, but I've been asked what I wanted to be when I grow up millions of times when I was five years old. No one yet asked me if I was being, if I was longing to some other source of knowledge. I've belonged long time before being and longing. Maybe that's why some of us stopped feeling that they belong.
Until the current moment, I have no idea who I am, but I think, then I must exist. Allow me to practice my existence by sharing the options of who I might be.
I might be the bookshelf which Cooper has used as a tool to send a message to Murph.
I might be another tool or code which is used to send the parallel worlds a message.
I might be the message.
I might be the receiver, and the sender.
I might be Shams Al-Tabrizi and I might also be Jalal.
I might be Beowulf and I might be Grendel
I might be bloody Mary and I might be Elizabeth.
I might be the writer and I might be the book.
It would be more awesome if I were the pen.
I might be the tree which keeps on falling and growing back again in a forest with no one around
My falls might cause storms and my seeds might end the African tragedy or vice versa
I might be nothing
I might be an insect being studied in the Earth lab, I might get crushed on the sidewalk of life anytime, I might eat the flesh of the dominants and kill them in seconds
I might be a new toy for the son of God, which will be thrown away after few play dates, he might also give me away to the poor
I might be a puppet, only created for entertainment, a box in the backstage of the universe might be my home
I might be beautiful
I might be ugly
I might simply be just me
But who am I?
I might be everything
I might be a Goddess
I might the puppet, the insect or the bookshelf
I'm made of the same elements of my creator
I might be my own creator
I might be a creator
I'm skeptic
I'm a grown up but I haven't stopped giving a handful of shit.
I've tried committing suicide, I've been sexually abused, I've been lied to, I have been a victim
I've blossomed, I learnt that spring is my only time to do so, and that's okay
I've killed another plants to grow, I've been an abuser, and a consumer
I've seen life in the eyes of the dead
"I've seen the both worlds as one"
I'm here but I might not be here
I might be a tree in a forest, keeps on falling and growing back again, can you hear me?
I'm you.
And I might be only writing this to get the three gifts
But I might be the gift. Do you hear your other self?
No comments:
Post a Comment