The Vessel's Labor
"The sin lies not in the volcano's eruption... The sin is to remain cold while everything within you is ablaze."
On a rainy night, under the gaze of a full moon, I came to a profound realization: I am a surging volcano. Neither the rhythmic downpour nor the radiant lunar glow could extinguish the fire within.
Today, I stand before the window in my pure white dress—a whiteness that defies the molten lava dwelling in my depths. The rain lashes against the windowpane with relentless cruelty, while I wash away the scent of ash that has clung to my pores for fifteen years. Fifteen years of playing the game of concealment, until the world perceived me as a "placid lake," while in the abyss... I was melting.
The Deception of the Open Palm
I never knew that the most arduous form of melting is that which occurs in silence—the moment you discover you were never an independent "entity," but merely a "vessel."
I was the one everyone found at all times; ever-available to mend the shattered pieces of others, the shoulder that never tired of bearing their burdens. I bestowed an imbalanced devotion, believing that love is purchased through sacrifice, until my generosity became, in their eyes, an "acquired right," and my patience a "duty" for which no gratitude was owed.
They would pour their clamor into me and depart lighthearted, while not one of them bothered to look into my eyes to notice my fading light, or offer a simple question to restore my soul: "And how are you?" They required my "ear" to listen and my "hand" to aid; they never required my "heart" to embrace.
The Repulsion of Souls.. The Birth of "Silence"
From this bitter depletion, a strange aversion to all that binds me to the world was born. I began to loathe the ringing of the phone, to find the exchange of words burdensome, and to flee from the pleasantries that gnawed at what remained of my energy. I grew to hate the act of "listening"—once my greatest virtue—and detested "communication"—once my bridge to others.
In that fleeting moment, my solitude was born. It was not the solitude of brokenness, but the solitude of a "survivor" attempting to shield what has not yet burned. I chose to seek refuge in my Silence—not for a lack of words, but because words had lost their way upon the paths of those who never deserved to hear them.
The Collision of Inquiry
Amidst this isolation, I was haunted by the question I had fled for years:
"Who am I? And why am I here now?"
I looked at my reflection in the rain-streaked glass and asked myself with bitterness: Is this the path I truly chose of my own free will? Or is it the trajectory "chosen for me"—to be a mere servant to the comfort of others?
The most agonizing moment of arrival is when you realize you have reached a place that does not resemble you, and that the version of yourself you are living now is but a response to the calls of everyone... except the call of your own heart.
The Volcano's Final Exhale
I recognized the truth; I do not need to extinguish my flame to survive; I need to accept my fire as it is. The sin is to remain cold while everything within you is ablaze.
The era of the "Vessel" that absorbs the world's pain has ended... and today, the era of the "Volcano" begins.
"The mirror does not lie, but it may conceal the truth behind the glass... Tomorrow, I shall shatter the mirror, and I will not apologize for the wounds that will strike those who attempted to mend me."
