Atp or Rigor Viventium

 

Today I died. No, clinically speaking. That brutal impact, like a shock - in shock therapy, the narrative thickens when faced with the object of terror - was not anaphylactic, it was, however, lethal. I died. And I had been asking for it for so long. Today you managed to kill the longing I had for looking at you. Today, that darkness to which I had become accustomed (just like the imprisoned servants in the allegory), I let myself be overcome by my eyes, until I went blind, until my arteries were warned, it still took me a few seconds to reach discernment. Like being caught by thunder. No, better. As if the thunder had pinned me against the wall, without respite, without escape, without struggle, without any disguise. Your uneven eyes fled, as I had already guessed, but you arrived and that was all that mattered. You shook the structures of this building that I thought was ME, but it wasn't me. It was a glimpse of who I am, there acquiescing, domesticated, awaiting the storm. And it came, throbbing, it rained heavily, flakes of snow slid across the furniture, the boxes of books, the sideboard, at the touch of your hands, the glacier melted. Something died in me and it wasn't the other, it was the shadow of who I was, not of who I am. I grew up, fleeing from the daggers, I saw you towering over me and I didn't retreat from the scene. I just hardened. Even though my body suffered the blow, the one from the outburst with which you arrived. I paralyzed. There are those who say that rigor mortis happens when the adenosine triphosphate no longer contains energy, when the battery runs out, the shroud is woven, in the shock drawn, it happens, the body stiffened, the probe that scrutinizes vital signs, didn't debit death, not the one, as you know it, that translates into rigor mortis, in that bodily rigidity. In the cessation of the flow of divine sap. The process was the opposite. When I say I died, I know that part of me has not yet gotten used to this finiteness of the ego. That the ego is resilient, that it enjoys failures and victories, struggles and illusory daydreams. My ego died, in a good way. I resisted the impact of your absence and, no matter how hard I fall, I resisted the impact of your life in front of me, but it was not you. You came armed with security, with codes and with not very subtle, oscillating frequencies, and God wanted to stop time, to make me again, like a small piece of clay, in his skillful hands, gaining tone, of life, I say ego contritum. And now, in this time called now, my ego lies in the wreckage of who I was, the love I had for others, especially for you, peculiar pieces of braided thread, embroidered gold veins, in no way inhuman, and if I lived a thousand years for you, I will die a thousand more for you, thanking you for the lesson you gave me, for love you died for me, God wanted you to kill me for my great love. So be it. Amen. My love continues. What died was the ego.