What We Do in the Shadows

He sat smoking a cigarette looking over the city perched from a secret park nook known to few people contemplating the insidious nature of his mind. For a moment he thought it was the grip of insanity settling in–maybe this time to stay–but then embraced the true nature of himself and sighed with relief at the opportunity to become acquainted with himself in this way. How many folks live their entire lives avoiding this place by all means necessary? The dark void that exists in consciousness–a byproduct of pursuing unbound freedom, happiness, self-awareness, and understanding.

Inhaling the sweetness of life, he basked in the moment paying attention to every single detail of the darkness welling within, noting that the scariest place on Earth is upstairs, yet there lies the key, and at a certain point it is necessary to make a visit. His thoughts drifted in and out settling into a rhythm of concise articulation. A man sitting with himself, honest and true, discovering and listening to the desires of his heart and the tune of his soul, and the hesitant drums of the mind anxiously pounding.

“I always thought that I would be a warrior of light, but the truth is that I’m a warrior of dark.” After a considerable time pondering this idea he came to an understanding that the idea of darkness being represented as bad was a foolish and ignorant point of view. A western point of view. A longstanding mainstream status-quo idea perpetuated by non-sensical dogma. How can anyone ever know themselves if they only allow themselves to force a reality of falsehood virtue? Is everything about everyone virtuous? Is it such an evil state of being to embrace the shadows? We all have them. We all pretend not to, and we certainly don’t open up about them. But they are there. Lurking in the back of the mind–the sick fantasies, and the dark thoughts, and the cynical nature, or whatever it may be. They are hidden behind a wall of fear, and all that wall ever does is hold us back.

Swallowing hard into the pit of his anxious stomach he digested the sickening emotions that he was allowing to spoil his evening. Strumming the strings of emotions intentionally in a well practiced self-performed ritual acquired from a lifetime of embracing and accepting well attempted failures. Twelve years spent delving head on into fear and doubt. Twelve years to decipher the meaning of a self on it’s own terms. Twelve years discarding the well-warnings and well-wishes of security. Twelve years of fighting and resisting. Twelve years!

A surge of emotion burst out into a torrent of laughter, almost bringing him to tears. “Fuck it’,” he thought to himself, “Fuck it all.”

He stood up light and sure, stepping back out into the freedom of knowing the only purpose he ever needed was his own; the only reason he needed to smile was himself, and that he was content drifting in and out of life on the currents of chaos knowing he’d become the anchor.

Throwing on his hood, he stepped back into the shadows and disappeared back to where he belonged: the darkness.