By: Mary Thi Pham
It‘s nearing midnight, and there‘s quiet except for my fan blowing the rising steam from my flesh.
My body, nothing more than a shell on borrowed time in this realm, sits and waits for decay, sickness, and death.
Death—no one can face this fate for me. No one can come with me to ease the way.
I came into this world alone because of a tenacious clinging to a life that‘s merely a mirage.
And now, because of this craving for pleasure, I pick up the only tool I know how to use—my pen.
Spinning words on a page that no one will ever read or think is worthy, I write.
For no one, but my own means and selfish pleasures. This is what brought me here in the first place.
Tenacious clinging to a world that despite all its diversions cannot keep me from remembering.
I will let this self-cherishing die away because it keeps me separate from you, and you, and you.
I remember of a place long ago where concepts such as: “self-cherishing and “self-loathing” didn‘t exist.
I remember never being alone because “I” never existed separate from “you” and “we” cherished one another.
Not the way lovers do, but the way the gardener weeded out all the bad seeds that nestled into our roots and polluted the pure beings that we are. I remember never feeling alone or not loved.
I remember that there was no power, no hatred, no greed, no delusions, no sorrow, no prisoners, no captors, no divisions, and no trespasses.
I remember there being no laws; we weren‘t governed by words, logic, and policies; we were governed by love, by wisdom, and by compassion.
I remember the sacredness in “me,” in “you,” in “them,” and in “us.”
Do you remember it, too?