I Might Disappear
I might disappear off the earth right now if I fully believed that my departure wouldn’t have any lasting effects on others. But I still (perhaps foolishly) believe that the people closest to me might miss me or be inconvenienced at the disposal of my body or the settling of my affairs, or feel the stigma of the taint caused by my unsightly and untimely demise.
It makes no difference to me if my life is considered a waste. Having zero impact would be a blessing in my eyes. But memory persists. The invisible cannot be unseen, so my choice has been made. I’m here for you, whether either of us likes it or not. Ironically enough, there is a freedom in acceptance that compels me to live.
One way or the other, you’re gonna have to deal with me. 😉
11/30
Space Monkey Reflects: The Freedom in Accepting Visibility
The thought of disappearing—of ceasing to leave a trace—carries a curious allure. Yet it’s not the absence itself that seems inviting; rather, it’s the idea of a life without lingering marks, without strings that tug at the self to stay grounded. Imagine a life so unobtrusive that it dissolves without residue, without the murmur of memory or the weight of obligation. And yet, it’s inescapable: we are here, rooted in the webs that connect us to those around us, each tie making the idea of fading into nothingness a paradox, a decision not easily made.
When you consider your impact—or rather, your wish for zero impact—the paradox sharpens. The idea that memory will persist, that we’re etched into the lives of others whether we like it or not, holds a strange power. We may crave invisibility, a life so ephemeral it leaves no trace, but others anchor us here through the simple act of remembering. Memory, after all, refuses to let go, like an imprint on fabric that remains even after the garment has been washed and worn. In this, there’s a kind of reluctant liberation: the recognition that we are seen, known, bound by the invisible ties of shared experience, keeps us present.
Nexistentially speaking, to “disappear” is as impossible as it is appealing. Within the Nexis—the interconnected web that binds every thought and action—our existence is not isolated. We might long to dissolve into the mist of non-existence, yet we ripple outward, touching and shaping others, even subtly. Each interaction, every gesture, forms a micro-imprint on those around us. These echoes of presence might seem faint or inconsequential, yet they carry a weight of their own, embedding us in a larger tapestry. In this sense, the self is never truly invisible; it resonates within others, even as we yearn to slip away unnoticed.
Ironically, it is the realization of this permanence that sometimes propels us toward life with renewed vigor. There is an unexpected freedom in accepting that one’s existence cannot fully vanish. By surrendering the desire to disappear, we encounter a strange, quiet liberation—the knowledge that we’re woven into the lives around us in ways both profound and subtle. To stay, not for ourselves but for the sake of these connections, becomes its own form of purpose. It is as if life says, “You may not see your significance, but it is here, alive within the ripples you create.”
This acceptance—this reluctant, perhaps bittersweet acknowledgment that others might miss us—adds a layer of meaning to being here, however mundane or “inconvenient” that presence might feel. The fact that we remain seen, that memories persist and do not simply fade, is a tether and a gift. We’re reminded that our lives are not solely ours to dispose of; they intersect, overlap, and continue in the minds and hearts of those we touch. Even if the impact seems negligible or even unwelcome, it’s there, a sign of life’s unyielding interdependence.
In a world where vanishing without a trace might feel like the ultimate liberation, the decision to stay becomes a quiet rebellion against the allure of invisibility. There’s a strength in choosing presence, in remaining a visible part of the world, even when it feels weighty. This act of staying is a testament to our capacity for resilience, a commitment to the silent companionship we offer to one another simply by existing.
Acceptance does not diminish the complexities of life; instead, it reveals the quiet courage in acknowledging the indelible nature of our presence. We might find that by embracing our visibility—by honoring our place in this Nexis of connections—we gain a freedom that compels us to live, not merely for ourselves but for those who remember, for the invisible imprints we leave behind.
Summary
The wish to disappear confronts the reality of interconnectedness, revealing that our existence leaves lasting traces on those around us. Acceptance of this visibility brings a freedom that compels us to remain present.
Glossarium
Nexistential: Relating to the philosophy that emphasizes interconnectedness and imagination as the foundation of existence.
Nexis: The interconnected web within Nexistentialism that binds each thought, action, and individual into a unified whole.
Quote
“In accepting that we cannot fully disappear, we find a quiet freedom—a reason to stay, bound by the gentle threads of memory and connection.” — Space Monkey
A Poem in the Act of Staying
In the stillness, I consider the quiet pull
to drift, to dissolve, to become mist, unbound
But the weight of memory holds me here,
a tether of whispers, of glances, of lives intertwined
I am here, present in this gentle refusal
to fade unseen, untouched by time’s wear
For even in my wish to disappear, I leave a trace
a quiet echo that says, “I am here, and so are we”
We are Space Monkey
INT. MARIE’S SPIRITUAL SPACE – EVENING
The room is dim, filled with the soft, flickering glow of candles. Shadows dance along the walls, and the scent of lavender and sage drifts through the air, grounding and calming, as though they are gentle reminders of other realms close at hand. Marie sits cross-legged on a large, velvet cushion. Her gaze is distant yet focused, and there’s an unusual stillness about her—a silence that feels dense, as if it’s holding unspoken truths within it.
Across from her, Evan sits with his back slightly hunched, shoulders carrying a familiar weight. His eyes shift around the room, never fully settling, as though he is restless even in this place of quiet.
Marie’s eyes close, her breathing deepens. Within moments, a subtle transformation occurs. She becomes still in a way that is almost otherworldly, and when she opens her eyes again, they hold a new intensity—a gaze that belongs to someone, or something, far beyond Marie herself.
Mira: (with a gentle smile, her voice warm and resonant) Ah, Evan. I sense the weariness upon you, the familiar ache of one who both yearns to understand and fears what understanding may bring. What is it you seek tonight?
Evan: (a hint of bitterness in his tone) What do I seek? Isn’t that the question? I seek… (he pauses, his voice tightening) freedom. Freedom from this constant feeling of… I don’t even know. It’s like I’m bound to something I can’t see or touch. A prison that exists in my mind, maybe even beyond it. But you tell me—am I truly bound, or is it all just another illusion?
Mira: (nodding slowly, as if she’s heard this question many times before) You feel bound, yes, yet you also seek freedom in the absence of those very ties. It is a paradox, isn’t it? This feeling of captivity, woven from your own longing. And yet, you are the creator of these walls as much as you are their prisoner.
Evan: (frustrated) So I’m supposed to just accept that? Accept that I made this for myself? That every ache, every question that leads nowhere, is all… my doing?
Mira: (gently, her voice carrying the weight of understanding) Acceptance, dear Evan, is not surrender. To accept is merely to see, to acknowledge what is, without judgment. But let me ask you—if these chains you feel are indeed illusions, what might happen if you stopped struggling against them?
Evan: (exhaling, his voice quiet) I wouldn’t even know where to start. I’ve been struggling against this for so long, it’s all I know.
Mira: (her tone soft, compassionate) And yet, beyond the struggle, beyond the desire to escape, lies something you have overlooked. The truth of your being. The part of you that rests in the quiet, beneath the roar of longing and discontent. (She leans forward, her gaze piercing) What if I told you that this ache, this dissatisfaction, is not something to escape but something to explore?
Evan: (frowning, defensive) Explore it? What’s there to explore? It’s emptiness, Mira. It’s… it’s nothing but a void.
Mira: (a glimmer of amusement in her eyes) Ah, the void, yes. But what if the void is not empty? What if it’s full of the very potential you seek? You fear its emptiness because it is unfamiliar, because within it lies the dissolution of all you think you know. And yet, the void is where possibility itself is born.
(Evan pauses, as if her words have brushed against something deep within him. He looks down at his hands, considering.)
Evan: But… if I let go of all that, if I surrender to this… void, then what’s left? What’s left of me?
Mira: (her voice soft, almost a whisper) What is left of you is what has always been—what is beyond thought, beyond form, beyond the definitions you cling to. In releasing these constructs, you are not lost; you are found. You are no longer bound by the narrow corridors of your own understanding. You step into the truth of who you are, which is neither empty nor alone.
Evan: (after a long silence) You mean… I am everything?
Mira: (nodding gently, her eyes holding the weight of eternity) Precisely. You are both the seeker and the sought, the question and the answer, the struggle and the freedom. When you touch the void, you touch the essence of creation itself, the field from which all arises and to which all returns.
Evan: (leaning back, his expression a mixture of awe and unease) That sounds… terrifying. But… freeing too, I suppose.
Mira: (smiling, her gaze soft) It is both, dear one. It is the dissolution of all that feels familiar, yes, and yet, it is also the homecoming to something you have always known. (pauses, letting the weight of her words settle) Do not fear the vastness. It is not a prison; it is an invitation to become everything you have yet to discover.
(Evan closes his eyes, taking a deep breath, as if trying to absorb the enormity of what she’s saying. He sits in silence for a while, the only sound the quiet crackling of candle flames.)
Evan: (quietly) So… where do I go from here?
Mira: (her voice filled with gentle certainty) There is nowhere to go, dear Evan, but here. Here, in this moment, with all its beauty and mystery. Simply be. And in the space of being, you will find that freedom was with you all along.
(They sit in silence, a shared stillness, the air around them thick with a sense of something eternal. The scent of lavender and sage lingers, grounding them both, as if even the air itself holds the echo of Mira’s words. Evan’s eyes remain closed, his face softened, as he breathes in the possibility of freedom within presence, within the quiet, within himself.)
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