Work Text:
It's easy to believe that some people dwell in such profound disconnection from their world that they abandon their very conscience.
That they forget. That they relinquish awareness of what it means to be human. They forget. Of the minuscule components that collectively shape their beings. (For I am but atoms, blood, and explosions. I am made from the elements that build the stars. And yet, I remain but a dim flicker in contrast to the sun.)
A proclivity often observed among narcissists is their inclination to selectively attenuate (half-power ratio, negative three decibels) the words that reach their ears, allowing only those that harmonize with their self-concept to resound with full resonance. Anything that contradicts their self-constructed image is swiftly relegated to the realm of error, stuck in the limbo, long forgotten, banished from their cognitive, wrong, wrong, and wrong.
It's easy to believe that they exist in a state of perpetual unawareness, blissfully ignorant, blessed are their mind who refuse to be bent and broken. Because this notion offers an easier path for us to tread. To suggests that they've become so profoundly detached that their feet no longer make contact with the solid ground beneath, and their hands have shed the delicate sensibilities of ordinary humanity—that, that's an easier path for us to tread.
Because it's not. It's not like that. For they are all aware, well aware. Well 𝚐𝚘𝚍𝚍𝚊𝚖𝚗 aware of what they are. Of what it means to be human, of the minuscule components that collectively shape their beings. (For I am but atoms, blood, and explosions. I am the dying star. I will burn the world.)
Because it's not. It's not like that. The trajectory of their orbit finds its epicenter within the confines of their consciousness/body/soul/themselves. They possess an acute awareness, an unerring cognizance of their actions. They are aware, so well aware. It permeates every nuanced detail of their conduct, and they are aware, that everything they do provokes halts, stumbles, and a descent into the maelstrom of confusion.
But it's easier. It's easier to believe that some people dwell in such profound disconnection from their world that they abandon their very conscience.
In the end, [in the early morning light, there's only] your thoughts/belief/you/yourself [to mourn].
Because it's easy.
It's easier to think of that than to grapple with the question of how they can persist in such actions, all while retaining an unwavering awareness.