We exist in a fractured reality of observers and doers, where life does not flow—it collides. It strikes against itself in a fever of conflicting meanings, until everything seems contradictory to its own reason. I look at the colors of our world and feel a sudden, sharp vertigo: Black feels way too dark, a mourning that never ends, and White is too revealing, a light so clinical it strips the soul bare.

Is there truly a season and a reason for all things? Or is that just a story we tell to keep the abyss at bay?

The Hunger of the Masses
I ask the mirror: when will we find the strength to seek the peace we are needing? Perhaps we do not seek it because we are afraid of the silence it brings. Do we wallow in chaos because we are ignorant, or simply because we are living? To live is, after all, a form of chaos.

In this marketplace of seekers and takers, war rages in the name of the “masses”—that abstract, faceless animal. But the animal has no voice; it only has hunger. The leaders, those architects of thirst, want only their share of the treasure. They speak of nations, but the wealthy are the true rulers, and their success is nothing more than the exhaustion at the end of a long list of satisfied consumers.

The Weight of Existence
We look at the treasury and call it accountability, but the math is hollow. War is when the pain of one feeds the greed of another. It is a cannibalism of the spirit, performed in broad daylight.

And yet, we struggle so hard to “understand.” What a heavy, useless ambition! We should not choose to understand one another. Understanding is a cage of words. Do not seek a reason for the person standing before you. You didn’t choose gravity to keep you aground, nor did you command the sun to shine at dawn. They simply are. Love, like the earth beneath your feet, should be a necessity of physics, not a choice of the mind.

©️ Beatriz Esmer