Confessions Of An Escape Artist

When did the running all begin? I can’t tell anymore. I’ve been running and running for such a long time, making all sorts of turns and jumps and dodges, slipping through cracks and going around bodies of water… it’s now impossible to see where it all started.

It’s a bit funny thinking about it now. Racking my brains, I have no reason to run away from. There’s no monster chasing me, as far as I can tell. I basically lived a good life. Love was abundant and it was almost always everywhere. I simply can’t understand why one morning I just woke up and decided to run. Back then it seemed like the only thing I had to do. To wake up and run.

Wake up. It’s ironic saying it. A friend of mine said I’ve been living in a dream. But I have never felt more awake my whole life. I’m feeling everything all at once. I’m everywhere, hearing everything, seeing every molecule swimming in the cosmos. I feel like I’m God.

And in a way, maybe God feels like He’s me as well. Too tired to care. Too spent on Love. Maybe that’s why most people don’t believe in God these days. God ran away. He doesn’t want to take responsibility anymore. He has retreated to a very remote area in the forests of Northern Europe just to unwind and fade until everyone will stop believing in Him at last.

And maybe that’s also why I’m having a hard time letting go of this world. Because people still won’t let go of me. People still believe in me. People still love me. And I don’t know if it’s doing me more harm than good. I can’t understand myself anymore.

So I run, hoping against hope a cliff would open up before me and I could jump, let myself fall off from the world. Or let the world fall off from under me. I’m not running away from something now. I’m running towards my salvation.

And I run.