Mary often appealed to her great freedom as a determining feature of her personality.
She would therefore try to present a socially acceptable side to substitute for her great fear of suffocation.
An inbred, inherited fear.
She would rather tend to remain in her world of stagnant waters, slowly becoming unhealthy by being artificially maintained, instead of realising she was perfectly able to breathe in the open air.
Every time she tried to spread her neck to breathe in, she would wind back to her valley of stagnation, to her lumpy waters.
Still, she would cry out : ‘I am free ! I am free !’
The other people did not read in her anything else but a wild woman, a savage heart…
Her reactions would instantly dry out any new relation to the spot, leaving the people around her in utter lack of understanding.
One day, one fine day, she went down the trail leading to her forgotten depths.
She did as she knew, as she’d always known : one breath after the other.
She saw blurry recollections of suffocation trying to impose irrational fears on her inner people: Potentials, Skills, Intelligence, Creativity… as well as a primitive Tribe of Emotions, petrified in layers of smoked glass.
In the midst of these emotions she sat and sat again.
Then, she sat some more.
This is the power of sitting : It summons isolation, lockdown, limitations. It summons death.
At times, she would feel the irrepressible urge to stand up, fed by the pretext of some task imposing itself in a nanosecond.
On this day, now that she had reached and contemplated the strength with which her fear of suffocation operates in her existence, she had no other choice but to keep moving closer to this opening channel and feel the reality of her coming disappearance.
Hers, and everything else’s…
No other choice but to see there was no such thing as disappearance.
Every second of her life had proven so : there she was, alive, even though she had crossed the channel ages ago.
This fine day, as she stood up, she finally agreed to live.
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