Socrates – I

It’s nice here.

It is?

Yeah, it’s really nice here,
this fuzzy world. Things are
happy blurs, I eat, I sleep
and I wake up in fog.

You hated the fog,
don’t you hate the fog?

Fog is a blanket,
cold and warm.
Why would I hate comfort?

What is comfort but
temporary deliberate delusion?

Look, I don’t know what to tell you.
Comfort is fun, thinking isn’t.
I’m getting along just fine thank you.

Sure you are.

Sure I am!

Well then, I have nothing to ask, goodbye.

Wait!

Yes?

I’m… ugh I’m not…
okay, fine.
Comfort isn’t comfortable.

Now we’re getting somewhere.

Don’t gloat.

Why is comfort uncomfortable?

Because I don’t think
I deserve to be.

What makes you undeserving?

I don’t know!

You do.

I do.
I don’t think I’ve earned it.
Wise old men can be comfortable.
I can be comfortable after a day of hard work.
What am I recuperating from that makes me want fog?

What does your fog hide?

What I can’t see.

Or what you don’t want to see?

What? I’m ignoring some unpleasant
truth now? Some scar or bruise
or underlying trauma?

Worse. Your duty.

Duty? What duty?
Who imposed this “duty” on me?

You did.
Your commitments, your promises, your goals.
You want to be in a place where they can’t find you.
Why did you ever make them?

I’ll get around to doing them!
I just…

It’s heavy, isn’t it?

Yeah. Fog is lighter.

And you wouldn’t be here if you wanted to stay in the fog.

No, I wouldn’t.

Only one way out now, isn’t there?

Please don’t make me leave.
Can’t I stay here forever?
A clean slate on consistency?

You know I don’t have to make you leave.
You’ll leave when you decide you want to.
Why is that not now?

Because the barrier that separates
what I want from who I am
is taller than the mountains
I told myself I’d climb someday.

The fog loves the valley,
as do the vultures.
If death is up and death is down
why not up?

Because that little thing
in my chest named “Soul”
is more scared of falling
than decay.

But that bigger thing named “Mind”
knows they hold the same fate.
When the end is the same,
what exists but the means,
the only thing you can control?

Nothing, really, except
I want to be content, at peace.

There’ll be plenty of peace when you’re gone.
Tomorrow’s a new day.
Can I trust you to wake up and climb?

I hope you can trust me
more than I trust myself.

Out of the fog then?

Yes, out of the fog.

Out of the fog and into the sun.

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