Darker side of nothingness

Darkness is tangible trough hues of heat, the searing white, the dark cold and the painful red of life. To slowly lose your ability to see, to understand only the shadows of a life once lived, how can one be.

I say trough art, I was afraid to not be able to write, the same fear of losing hands or the ability to control my body, the fear of being caged, of a body irresponsive. Yet sight was not what made me write, it was not picturesque landscapes, or sultry love. I wrote of the self, of the mind, and now I can see nothing else.

It is liberating as it is confusing, will you understand the horrors and beauties of my mind? Will you be able to see darkness beyond shadow, and light beyond the sun?

Never will I know, for through the exploring of my mind I found us all to be alone, we may understand comparisons and ideas, but the fullness of emotion is forever isolated from others

In the unseeable of the self, in the place that is only ours, I found darkness beyond shadow, beyond nothing.

Darkness has hues, the understanding of which I do not expect from you, it is not fireworks in the night sky, not some flying orbs of light in the middle of nothingness, no it is the hue of tangibility, of real and not, of air and vacuum.

It is the nothingness between thoughts, between lives, between reality.

It lingers, it does not exist, yet it lingers, consuming the mind until you look, and you don’t see, you never see, for there is nothing. But when you look, when that nothingness is the only thing you see, when you are alone, breathless, thoughtless, when reality is the illusion, when the dream is distant and incomprehensible, you wake up, lost, yet in the same place, no time passed, yet you feel wrong out of place, torn, every piece of your body a wrong in the world, every breath a disruption of inertia, the world is too slow, and you move too fast, the sounds, oh the sounds are hellish for how could they be anything else, it is life and it feels wrong, it all feels wrong, you can’t move, but you don’t want to, not to live, not to breath, not to hear, and the blindness is a blessing, until the darkness creeps.

It lingers, it does not exist, yet it lingers, consuming the mind until you look, and you don’t see, you never see, for there is nothing. But when you look, when that nothingness is the only thing you see, when you are alone, breathless, thoughtless, when reality is the illusion, when the dream is distant and incomprehensible, you wake up, lost, yet in the same place, no time passed, yet you feel wrong out of place, torn, every piece of your body a wrong in the world, every breath a disruption of inertia, the world is too slow, and you move too fast, the sounds, oh the sounds are hellish for how could they be anything else, it is life and it feels wrong, it all feels wrong, you can’t move, but you don’t want to, not to live, not to breath, not to hear, and the blindness is a blessing, until the darkness creeps.

You might think me mad, yet I write with clear mind, with a light always and unseeing eyes open, so that it cannot creep, so that I am blind in light instead of darkness. But I fear you are right, when it consumes me, when the nothingness is the right of my world, if a world it even is, I will have to kill it, or it will kill me. Slowly, like time, like the bacteria eating at dead flesh, when the cacophony comes, when darkness creep I will have to kill it, and I cannot.

Calm beyond calm, life beyond consciousness. How could I hate the lack of reality, when the self was all that I lived. When I write only to understand myself, when “we” is a lie and I found true solitude, no thought, no life, no breath, even in the blinding light I yearn to stop hearing that grating sound of air coming through the window, through the space in my bedroom, through me, cycling.

I fear that reality is a illusion not of the mind but of the self, of the soul, as many thoughts are, a punishing, a test, something so intrusive you did not notice, how could you, when consciousness feels so natural.
I have glimpsed reality though blindness, and I will embrace it.

Daniel 16/06/25

Sobre o autor: 

 Sou Daniel Almeida, estudante de Ciências da Computação, escrevo uma questão interna que fascina pela falta de consciência.