Aergia Manea

Try to sleep, but you will be placed between two options, always directed towards an awareness of something that you cannot dissolve. I wish I could at least turn to the true essence of the corporeal, thus ignoring all the activity of human relations and everything that involves being in society. There is a prison that holds me, and my consciousness is limited, limited by an intellect that drives me to act without having the choice to escape. Abstract matter, pure exaltation of perceptions, directs me towards the world. I see beauty around me, but beauty cannot see me. And I do not see it in its entirety, despite having seen it in the past. Why, exactly, can I no longer touch this world? Look around you: are all the objects you see experiencing existence? There is a fear in my soul, and this fear is governed by the imprisonment of the world of matter. Consciousness seems to me to be just like the insomnia of matter, in which I cannot rest my eyes on what is most essential. Being conscious is having something in me that is different from matter, that seems impossible to physicalize, that cannot be qualified by natural means. Consciousness is my direct access to the world, while my body is essentially the only substance that would make sense to exist. Everything that is not conscious seems pure, and any trace of consciousness is enough to take away the purity of its essence. Having my eyes open towards the world makes me see this world in its splendor, but it makes me see other consciousnesses, which leaves me terrified, unable to take refuge anywhere, in any sphere, always searching for an identity, an identity that I cannot find, except within the deep ballast of my heart, a heart that must turn to that which exists in relation to everything that is exempt from moral, social or promising order. Fear is established precisely in the pleasure that exists in seeing this world with purity, because it seems that the impurity of daily activities is more valuable to the soul than the contemplation of objects and their beauty. I feel afraid to appreciate this world in its greatest splendor, because of the feeling that this would leave me completely trapped in a corporeal reality that I could not escape. And so, I disconnect, because the memory of society makes me take my eyes off the beautiful green grass or the orange autumn sky. I am afraid of the world, despite only finding pleasure in these small things in life, and it is pleasure that limits me. Perhaps because of the belief that all pleasure is impure, perhaps because I am always driven to act in society. Looking at trees all my life could not give me a good condition to exist, but, would there be anything purer than the trees themselves? Would there be a greater pleasure among men than the colors of the sky in contrast with the fruits of a tree? Would there be a man greater than the blue sky? And in view of this, what is my fear in the face of matter that has no consciousness of itself?