Imprisoned Glory


Acting. Pretending. Playing roles. It never ends. The lying, the deception, goes away only when the last breath leaves the body, letting it fall back to the earth it came from. As the casket is lowered into the ground, the whisper of the lies is silenced and all fades to black. What then, was all the fuss about?

A great many things.

It’s easy, it seems to me, to say to somebody, ”be yourself”. When I was growing up, I met a few people who looked and behaved like…themselves. They had very distinct characters, very sharp individuality. Those were the ones I looked up to, the ones I emulated and secretly envied.

But that`s not the point.

Why is someone born to become a strong, confident person who is happy in him, or herself and is therefore free to face others and life itself? Why are there others, probably the majority of us, who are struggling, like survivors of a shipwreck or a great battle? Some are strong, some are weak. Some look good, some don`t. Some are happy, some are not. It all this seems normal and absolutely natural to the way things work in the world. There is only one problem…

It`s not fair.

Once, there were those of us who searched for treasures. Those who, despite of their acceptance of practicality, their tolerance and use of things like education, science, or religion, were not satisfied. On and on we searched, seeking that which, although unseen, was more real than anything, since we heard its haunting call in our empty, hungry hearts. Ah, our poor hearts…

The search led us into deepest darkness from which some of us have still not escaped.

I, like countless others, suffered defeat. The fire blazing in the heart of the young boy who wanted to change the world, began to gradually die. Hopes, dreams, desires – all slowly sank to the depths. There, where no song, no laughter was heard, they began to die slowly, suffocated by thick, foul blackness. Outside, life was in its full swing.

It is a mystery indeed. How often is the deepest tragedy in life hidden from our eyes?

On the outside, things looked good. Muscles were built, like a wall erected around a fortress, to fool the enemies and keep them at bay. I too was fooled.

Self-hatred and shame took the reigns, mercilessly driving my young heart to its destruction. From that time on, the shadow which was veiled my face, took on a more real, almost palpable form. It sometimes lifted, with the help of alcohol, cocaine, and the allure of a mysterious stranger who, like me, was wandering through the wilderness. It was dark and we did not see. The nightclubs were orphanages, the streets – a parade of lonely souls.

When one is aware of one`s miseries, things are, believe it or not, not that bad. After all, as Pascal said, one`s miseries are a proof of his grandeur. But when he becomes happy in his state, even passionate about living life as it currently is, then the possibility of change grows thinner with each passing year.

The worst had happened – happiness had befallen me. I soared, high above all mortals. Indeed, for a few years, I was immortal.

Sadly, that which really was me, could now only be seen when the veil was lifted, indeed, by the very things which sought to destroy me.

”You could be a poet,” someone once said to me. I had just finished describing a simple painting which hung on the wall in the hotel room. I had taken a lot of cocaine and, despite of the amount of alcohol I had drunk, I was almost sober. Strung out from the drugs, I had to speak. Temporarily set free from my inhibitions, I let my heart sing its secret song.

That which makes us alive is set within our heart, but how can there be life if the heart is buried?