I was bleeding, like literally. Well, still am. Since this Thursday.
I had read it could be from severe stress and exhaustion, or else. I could not really tell which one.
The last time I had problems with my digestion system, twice, and received different medicines which did not indicate what was the cause of my condition. And this time I was bleeding, not heavily, only small amount less than five milliliters, perhaps less than three.
It didn’t hurt, though. I was not on my period either, just got it two weeks ago.
Now, I wonder whether the stress had gone too far, again. I hope it did not. Well, I presume that it never really went away, not for a single day. We can say that every human being deals with some certain amount of stress for a period of time in their life, on some occasion. What I’m pretty curious was had the amount of stress that I had the obligation to endure been increased?
Yesterday, I was in the bathroom, trying not to think much of everything since it would do no further good when you got any idea by meditating while taking a dump, or pee. I mean, it would not be quite insightful nor inspiring, Idk. Yet, that time, I was wondering, list of questions were rushing inside my head like the beck gushing through the stony stones.
I’m currently reading The Art of War by Sun Tzu. And I think we could be mutually agree that life without an enemy threatening to stain your future would be less challenging. Moriarty did mention that every fairy tale needs the old-fashioned villain; the bad guy. The necessary evil, to the least.
But then, I thought, who was the real enemy of this life? Life is not a fairy tale, it’s a whole level different from movie, not the play or even books. I have said that, life is either too simple or too complicated and sophisticated to be compared to any stories combined, let alone the movies.
Who was the real enemy? The devil himself? Were it the wrongdoers? Were it evils which lurking behind the blurry greyish of line? Was it something we do and do not on the other hand? Was it something that we had clearly defined within moral department? Was it supposed to be like a specter, going through our peripheral vision, to feel it at the tip of our fingers, whispering eerie words and shush into the ears?
In The Art of War, it was said if we know who we really are as well of the enemies then we can secure victories. And if only we know ourselves but not the enemy, you would be less likely to achieve glory. And if you do not know yourselves nor the enemy facing you, then most likely you would succumb to defeat.
I was bitter, a bit, for a while. For all I know the purpose of the creation of me myself and I is to devote my life on good-deeds-paved road track, to be His faithful servant, to obey His command. Yet, what about the enemy? I should want to conquer all the obstacles and secure the victory. And the victory was laid bare behind the curtain, made of being dying. One only can know the afterlife if he has the chance to meet the grim reaper, if the death bids you a Hello from the right hand then most certainly that is your eternal glory. And, here, I’m not really sure that I want to know, I’m not even ready to send greeting card to the angel of death.
There is the enemy, he would not let me pass. He would not let me be good. He would not let me be what I want to be, what I should be, what I could be, what I would be. He pulled me back and through, put a chain, into restrain, so I would not be anywhere. In this place, called the dark abyss of anonymity.
What if the real enemy was buried deep inside within? Like the demons beneath the road. Wearing the robes of the angel, vivid and bright, all white, the smoothest fabric you could ever touch.
To tell you the truth, neither do I know.