Nothing as everything

To leave something untouched, unspoken. Is this judgement driven by a fear, a logic- calculation? No action (or rather, inaction) seems to bear an intention with stronger imbalance than this, a dance between:

The selfless; The selfish; The pure; The wicked. The adjective we can ascribe to the root of inaction is as infinite as we are.

Why didn’t you do something?

The self-centricity is survival, fraught with intellect -

yields neglect. But in nothingness, avoidance, you remain wholly complicit - for better or for worse.

But what if - what if action is excitement though it may be wrong? Even the cautious among us cannot help but surrender to the curiosity- no - intrusiveness of emotion.

People remember, hero or resent one’s action.

Perhaps then, inaction is strength; it could be framed as such. Or is it cowardly? Whatever you choose, there can lie antithesis unbeknownst even to the maker.

Outward expression is often a oxymoronic display of the consciousness. You say black you mean white. You mean it fiercely.

Reasoning inaction. It lacks a simple impulse, a natural inclination, the guidance of some arbitrary system of ‘morality’. To justify why we do what we do is often in tune with a collective expectation.

Action fundamentally requires a confidence and willingness of exposure. A manifestation of what could be total disinterest, indifference, or an opinion so weighted it could be catastrophic to surface: that is inaction.

An invisible, silent storm.

Inaction is not ‘doing nothing’. It’s sinister, it’s stoic, it’s frustrating, it’s beautiful - we can get away with murder for our perversion is concealed. We can sleep soundly knowing our silence was a blessed white lie.

We can harbour unspeakable secrets that would only hurt when spoken.

Our perceived outer-world is formed by influenced action. Our relationship with the self is the ravaging but comforting, cautious yet dangerous, inaction.

It’s an alternate reality entirely. One we can only truly experience within the self.