There is no fathoming the darkness of the human heart, I thought flippantly. My own inane flippancy suddenly frightened me – I became aware that my mind was running away with itself, spouting all sorts of empty nonsense that I had no control over. And yet that wasn’t my mind doing this, that was me…
There is no fathoming the darkness of the human heart, I told myself and the words resonated throughout my very soul. No fathoming, no fathoming, no fathoming. Darkness, darkness, darkness. How well I knew that darkness – my dreams were full of it, suffused with it. Right at the core of my being – or so it seemed – there was a trap-door that led directly to the fissures of hell itself. How well I knew these fissures! I could navigate these fissures with my eyes closed. You wouldn’t see anything in that darkness even if you did have them open, come to think of it. You wouldn’t go down that hole in the ground in the first place if you had your eyes open! Why would you – there’s nothing down there but infinite suffering, infinite misery, infinite degradation!
Mind you, I must admit that I have always had a type of affinity for entering the subterranean passage-way that lies hidden under that terrible trapdoor. I have always had a kind of a fondness for it, which is a funny kind of thing to consider, isn’t it? Fondness and unutterable horror are somehow mixed within me, which is a hard thing to come to terms with. How can that be? How am I to reconcile the two? We human beings are such contradictions aren’t we? Or maybe it’s only me…
There is no fathoming the darkness of the human heart, I thought again for the umpteenth time. Did you ever wonder what’s in people? Did you ever wonder what kind of a thing it is that lives in them? I presume it’s normal to think this! It’s normal for me, anyway… Very often I find myself fascinated when talking to people – not with them as such but with what’s in them. I find myself thinking, ‘What’s in you? What’s in you?’
Obviously, you can’t stare too intensely when you are thinking like this – most people would get very reactive if you did. No one likes being observed too closely – it’s like prising the top of someone’s skull off to take a good look at what’s inside! Nobody wants that. It’s invasive and the thing that lives in us doesn’t like it…
I have had to learn to stare indirectly, without anyone realising that I am. I have had to learn to observe without in turn being observed. I am the secret observer! This is the art that I practice, and I have learned much through practicing it. For example I have learned that there is a frequently-encountered type of person who never give anything away with their faces; their faces are practically inanimate – like blocks of stone. Something lives behind those terribly inanimate stony faces, but you’d never know what it was. You never know what that thing was because – as I just said – it never ever shows itself!
With this type of person, I have noticed, the only sign of ‘life’ (if you can call it that!) are the eyes, which are always beady and suspicious looking. They are constantly scanning back and forth. If there’s anything going on at all, then their automatic assumption seems to be that someone is plotting against them in some way. I know it sounds uncharitable to say this, but these are my observations. It’s as if this type of person always takes everything personally and – also – always suspects that any stranger they might happen to meet is up to no good.
In addition to this incorrigible suspiciousness, there is a nosiness that is most unpleasant – it’s as if their ears are radar antenna scanning tirelessly this way and that, always looking for relevant information, always looking for information that relates to them. It’s as if they are always afraid of missing out on something – something that could either represent a threat, or some kind of advantage.
I’d dearly love to know what type of thing or entity it is that is inside these stony-faced people! I’m totally fascinated by them, as you can probably tell. I am both drawn to them and repulsed by them. There are other types of people too, you might object at this point. There’s more to the human race than the stony-faced suspicious-type, you might say!
That’s very true of course. I know that perfectly well. I don’t contest it. It’s just that the other types of people don’t seem to hold such fascination for me. I don’t take much of an interest in the other types, to be honest. I don’t ever find myself wondering just what type of a thing or entity it is that is living secretly in them and that’s what I want to find out. What is it and why is it so loathsomely obnoxious? And why am I so fascinated in finding out?