It had been weeks since I had the yombul fever. Something in me had died. The break from Tae, putting down a life — I’d been through so much. It wasn’t normal, the weight I carried, the stress. My poor heart. I wasn’t going into an ecstatic state, I was a ball of pain. I had to come to terms with the fact that she’d sent a bomb in response to one of the finest pieces of literature I’d ever put down. It wasn’t something to discuss. I was to be dispatched. A turn of the heel, no words, bonds that wouldn’t break or heal, a series of detonations far above her.
It would be a month before I landed.
In the dark forest, the cry of the One, the insects, small creatures burrowed into the cracks, the white of the leaves; a typhoon. I could tell by the play of the wind. It was one of those moments our parents wanted us to have, like swimming in a wild pool, experiencing the deep forest, the wild things there — they knew it would be important later on. The experiences from deep meditation, how can we know their reach? The first time I tasted a huckleberry opened doors to what food could be. The same way allowing the One to flow through me, to fill the voids, to temper my emotions, to turn things incandescent.
In the cold of space I realized the grim process of giving my life was the precursor, what returned “in an unconditional space” again had to be broken. It had risen in the vacuum to monstrous proportions, though when the letter arrived I’d already been falling. The altitude was too great. I couldn’t remain elevated. The pieces that were left found again the bonds with Tae, this time not as proof of some sun-filled future but as an attempt to understand. We’d been together so much, was I just a reflex? Was I fulfilling a role? It just didn’t seem possible. The bond I felt with her began to appear before she’d entered the University, at Musangsa. In the photos from that time we were always together.
I watched a baby snake slither across the courtyard. Already free, it had just left the egg. Snakes don’t need even their own mother. Humans, we need so much. Whatever happened with Tae, it would’ve been interesting having a close relationship with her. She would’ve given everything for me. It would’ve been a spiritual partnership of monstrous proportions. It would’ve probably got us killed. A tiny flaw would’ve unraveled the whole damned thing: a love triangle, the gypsies next door… it was always hard. It would be impossible to maintain, a perfect moment in a sea of calamity. I found it easier to move away from her after seeing the snake. It triggered something, but I couldn’t let go of her until I knew her mind. It wasn’t possible to sever the bond while I remained in the dark. I took it as far into the abyss as mortally possible, still she remained. The love just wouldn’t die.
“Hope is written on the gates of hell.”
Things had definitely changed. There was a new life, a new layer that pressed down on the old. Everything seemed to be interconnected like a neural pattern. How did it work? So many connections and bonds, all I could see. Such a difficult architecture, fiery, looping filaments grown into a vast network. The bonds formed automatically, without knowledge or consent. It was at once spellbinding and ominous.
We think of ourselves as unique entities, but we are not. We are an amalgam of things, growing dynamically. Bonding is more than joining to another entity, it’s growing the network, adding connections and nodes. It becomes a new being — why it is so difficult to break. Maybe the person had things you needed. Maybe it was a multitude of bonds. To live without bonding is impossible. Humans will always be together. That’s how our brains work. But it’s possible to live without a partner. I’ve done it most of my life. It’s important to have relationships, to experience love and it’s terrible demise, but at what point does it become redundant information? It may be impossible to clear the emotional field, to put the life down if it involves someone else. You have to really travel light to go this way. Nothing really.
Sometimes I felt that I knew too much, I’d seen too much. I didn’t think I could live much longer. It was too intense. But there was no other way. All of us had devoted our lives to attaining truth, the great way, and helping this world. But no one knew where it would lead, what we would find.
I heard the crow in the trees, separate and distant. It had never been otherwise. Self and other continued as different occurrences far beyond any threshold I’d penetrated. The deep state had completely overtaken my life, filled it with a radiant, great peace, one that only increased. At the same time, my heart completely broken, I was a ghost.