Unlikely empathy of digital spirits
Reconciling with the sacred roots
Today I went to church with my parents, I painted easter eggs like a sunset and embedded them with a silver string. A tradition, which I have always loved the most. Last year when we went there, it was sunny, warm. I was wearing all white, flowing long skirt, light blue ancient blouse with silver embroidery buttons. Drunken men, who stumbled their way into the House of God with their contrasting everything strange joyfulness, were staring at me. When I was walking in old falling—apart cream leather shoes, I was scratching the stone floor making noise as I walked, focused on my solemn silence of thought. One of the drunk approached me, and with real curiosity asked me if I was an angel, I was. Today, I was wearing all black, my parents rushing to put the Easter basket on the holy table, I was left behind. Resigned to chase them, I stood in front of the Cross behind the altar, in front of the priest conducting ceremonial blessing of the food brought by the congregation. I escaped to prayer. I begged the Higher Power of Above to set me free from hatred. Recently I have been feeling possessed, something demonic was haunting me. On my way to my home country I was consumed with hatred, hating my country, hating its people, hating my family home, hating my family, hating people surrounding me on the plane, hating the fact I was there and I was coming back, and hating myself most of all. I cannot be stuck in this perpetual hatred. I seek peace beyond myself, but I am in desperate need of finding the peace within. I cannot reach it, however hard I keep on trying I am consumed by the darkness. However complicated may be my relationship with God, today I surrendered entirely, begging for light, begging for salvation. Redemption of my corrupted mind, of my ill-fated soul, and doomed heart. I have brought this darkness on myself by myself alone, by desperate pact with the evil for trying to reach something beyond my capability. I have allowed evil spirits in due to yearning too deep. Now I beg to let go, to be set free. I renounce the Devil.
Mantra
I am sanitizing myself with the spiritual holy water
The rubbing alcohol of meditation dissolves the germs of disconnect
Cracking bones repent the demons of the mind
Be present, be aware, be kingdom of life
You are life, and you are surrounded by life
Respect, Connect, Feel
Empathy is the key to be for every being
The path moves forward through the water and the dirts
Love must be stronger than hate
Hate cannot lead to love
Let go, swim inside your own ocean
Be freed by the sun, the moon, and all the stars
The infinity of holy trinities and endless gods
They all guide to improvement in respect and care
Protect the mother Earth from her blinded offsprings
Cleanse the darkness through the wind
Know who cannot lead
All will fall back in
Wisdom from within
I have refused and abandoned my creativity, therefore I am sad
I am one of the massless victims of the doomscrolling and overreliance on the internet, pitifully losing my cognitive abilities. I write unevenly and with spelling mistakes of easy words. If I would not allow myself to take up the time and write, I would not have to, everything is digital and the digital means do not need the personal element of handwriting, of forgetting words, of misspelling, of uneven lines, or fancy curves of letters. I miss poetry, doing collages, dancing, reading, listening, creating, writing etc. but instead, on a daily basis, I rot away, in bed, in mind, behind a screen or inside my dumbed brain. I lost connection with my intuition and I fell mad into the perceiving and judgmental, I judge so I am judged too, and I judge myself the most. One whole day, 24h or more so, without leaving my tiny apartment, no enough motivation, no enough purpose, no one to go out with that day. So I stay inside and try to be productive, I fail. I cannot write well enough for my studies – I fear.
Everyone hates me – I dread.
I am extending my personal scores of desorganisation. Leaving important papers and documents anywhere. Writing class notes, schedules, personal tracks of thoughts, remainders for daily chores… anywhere, whether in digital sphere or notebooks, planners–with the irony of buying a planner to become more organised, yet then turning it into disorganised written monument. I am tired of being so messy but I cannot change no matter how old I get, responsibly unresponsible, I cannot simply ‘get myself together.’ The older I get, I feel, I am becoming more forgetful, less creative, grayer, duller, dumber. Cognitive suffering, my eye is twitching.
I could be in a bar now, but I am here alone. I could be ‘happy,’ but I am not.
The ‘wellbeing’ as a burden is a curse.
Life should not be constantly earned. I want to go back to my maladaptive daydreaming–intuitive state, and shed the snake skin of the hypervigilant–shizo–paranoid colouring.
“We live in a real-life matrix, undeniably”.
I want my matrix to serve me, not doom me.
Amelia Głowacka
