When you go as far as you can, there, you will require a witness, to attest that you exist. But they will not feel your wound.
When you go as far as you can, you will seek a body to dissolve into, to become more than what you have been forced to be. Yet they will be cold as stone.
Life without a Witness
To live without a witness is not easy. To grow children, trees, ideas—a life no one truly sees, no one truly looks at. To build a life bit by bit, slowly, unevenly, knowing it may vanish, invisible. To watch your youth melt, your wealth diminish, your life drain quietly. This is not easy.
To connect is not easy. With yourself, with those closest to you, with strangers, with aliens. To connect, to communicate, often beyond words. It requires something else: a rhythm, a fragile gesture of noticing, a following. Not ignoring. Not explaining. Not correcting. Not fearing what may be misread. What may be misled. Misinterpreted. Misunderstood.
It requires following. Following what appears, even if it does not yet make sense. Letting the expression emerge, and continuing. Following it to the edge—without hesitation, without fear, without the need to be right or win or seen.
The instinct. Your animal instinct. It is not your prison. It is your most faithful companion when you can feel it clearly, when it is not overruled too early. Let thought move with it. Let instinct guide thought. This is not easy.
But this is how you capture it. The child. Beyond words, beyond promises, beyond lies, beyond limitations, beyond fears, beyond excuses, beyond capacities. Because this is all you need to do: to hold, to capture. Nothing more. No explanation. No lesson. No arguing. No winning. No imposition of meaning. The child will do everything in its own becoming. All your words, your education, your experience—let them become only this: the gesture that allows you to follow with a curious responsibility, to follow, to hear, to capture, to hold, to arrive without hesitation. A moment is more than enough. It is all for a frigile moment.