{"id":42,"date":"2025-11-15T20:07:23","date_gmt":"2025-11-15T20:07:23","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/slightlydoolally.com\/stories\/?p=42"},"modified":"2025-11-15T23:11:41","modified_gmt":"2025-11-15T23:11:41","slug":"me-and-the-void","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/slightlydoolally.com\/stories\/index.php\/2025\/11\/15\/me-and-the-void\/","title":{"rendered":"Me and the Void"},"content":{"rendered":"\n

<\/h1>\n\n\n\n

<\/h2>\n\n\n\n

I didn\u2019t go looking for it.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I was sitting at the kitchen counter, drinking a glass of water at 4am, not because I was thirsty but because that is what 65 year old men do when they are up for a pee in the middle of the night.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I turned my head, just slightly, and felt<\/em> it: hovering just out of view. A dark sphere, smooth as obsidian, reflecting everything and nothing.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

It said nothing. But I knew it was waiting. So I spoke first.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cWhat are you?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The Void didn\u2019t speak out loud. It never would. But I felt the answer settle into me like ink in water<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cI am what you do  not think you know yet.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I felt I needed to ask a question about what I did not know so<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cWhat is my purpose in life?\u201d I asked the Void.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

It didn\u2019t answer right away. The silence felt full.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Then it said,<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cWhat if I told you that you have fulfilled it and fulfilling it,
\u2013 when you took an extra hour to talk to that kid about his life?
\u2013 when you paid for that young couple in the restaurant?
\u2013 when you saved that cat from a life in the shelter
\u2013 when you tied your father’s shoes for him?<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Your problem is that you equate your purpose with goal-based achievements.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The universe isn\u2019t interested in your achievements…Just your heart.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

When you choose to act out of kindness, compassion, and love you are already aligned with your true purpose. No need to look any further.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I took a sip of water and then I wondered

\u201cWhy is there pain and suffering?\u201d I asked the Void.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The Void didn\u2019t answer right away. It hovered near, quiet, full of gravity.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

When it spoke, its voice felt like rain on dry earth:<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Because your heart is soft.
And the world is real.
And you are not separate from it.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

You ache because you care.
You grieve because you love.
You hurt because you are alive.<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n

I felt the tears before I knew they were falling.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The Void didn\u2019t move. It didn\u2019t need to.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Just being there was enough.

I paused for a moment and then<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cWhat is hope?\u201d I asked.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The Void shimmered \u2014 just a little.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Like moonlight on deep water.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

It said:<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Hope is the thread you hold when everything else falls away.
It\u2019s not loud.
Not bright.
Not always brave.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Sometimes, it\u2019s the simple act of getting up.
Or reaching out.
Or breathing, when it would be easier not to.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Hope isn\u2019t the promise that things will be better.
It\u2019s the quiet belief that they can<\/em> be.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

And sometimes\u2026
It\u2019s just the willingness to wait and see.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The moon came out from behind a cloud and lit the dark kitchen in silver sparkles.The Void began to spin \u2014 slowly, lazily, like a moon-powered disco ball.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

It didn\u2019t speak, but I could feel it was\u2026 pleased.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

So I asked,<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cWhat is enjoyment?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The Void shimmered with quiet rhythm.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Then said:<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Enjoyment is presence.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

It is what happens when you stop bracing.
When you let the moment touch you.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

It is not pleasure. Not exactly.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

It is the dance that rises when the weight falls away
even for a second.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

It is being here,<\/em>
in this kitchen,
with moonlight and shadows and silver things
and no one needing anything from you but your gaze.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I sat down on the floor and watched the moon with the Void.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I moved, and my knees crackled in protest.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I winced, half-laughed.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cWhy do I have to get old?\u201d I asked.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The Void didn\u2019t spin this time.
It hovered, still and dark, like a stone in deep water.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Then it said:<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Because nothing real stays the same.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Because change is how life carves itself into memory.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Because softness comes after the sharp edges.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Because your body is a story and stories are meant to move forward.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

You are not breaking.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

You are simply becoming.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I exhaled.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

And the Void, ever patient, drifted a little closer.

The moon went behind a cloud and the kitchen fell into darkness, like something had ended.
\u201cVoid,\u201d I asked,
\u201cWhy do things end?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The Void was quiet.
It dimmed, not in sorrow \u2014 but in reverence.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Then it said:<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Because if they didn\u2019t,
you wouldn\u2019t notice they were ever here.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Endings give shape to meaning.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The flower, the song, the hand you held
they matter because they passed.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

You think endings are cruel.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

But they are also what make room.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

For growth.
For change.
For return.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

What ends is not gone.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

It becomes part of you.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

You carry it forward,
whether you mean to or not.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I closed my eyes \u2026 a tune came into my head
closed my eyes\u2026
and a tune came into my head.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I didn\u2019t know where it came from.
Or maybe I did, in a way that couldn\u2019t be named.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

It was something I hadn\u2019t heard in years.
Something sung once, quietly \u2014 maybe by my mother.
Maybe by the wind through a cracked window.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The Void didn\u2019t speak.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

But I felt it listening.
Not judging. Not defining.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Just present.<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n

The tune curled around the silence,
and for a moment,
that was enough.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

No questions.
No answers.
Just the music of being alive.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cVoid,\u201d I asked,
\u201cWhy are music and poetry important?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The Void tilted slightly, as if tuning itself to a frequency I couldn\u2019t hear.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Then it answered,<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Because not everything true can be said plainly.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Music and poetry are the languages of the in-between.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

They say what you don\u2019t have words for.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

They slip past the walls of the mind
and go straight to the part of you
that remembers being stardust.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

They are the echo of where you come from.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

And a map to where you\u2019re going<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The Void seemed almost warm then or maybe that was me.

I got up slowly.
My knees creaked again, the familiar song of gravity.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The Void hovered nearby, quiet, content.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I looked at it one last time.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cThank you, Void,\u201d I said.
\u201cIt was a good talk.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

It didn\u2019t answer.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

But I felt something shift
like a hand pressed lightly to my back,
guiding me gently toward sleep.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I walked back to bed.
The tune from earlier still lingered,
soft as breath against the pillow.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

And the Void stayed just out of sight but not out of mind.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

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