The Setting: Julian is sitting in a café, staring at a crumpled piece of paper Elias just handed him. The text is jagged, filled with dark imagery of "pitiable psychiatric donuts" and "liquid fire." Julian looks up, visibly unsettled.
Julian: Elias... this is dark. I mean, "the land of the forlorn soul," "obscene desires," "useless shit"? If I didn't know you, I’d be calling for a welfare check. This sounds like someone at the absolute end of their rope. Are you okay?
Elias: (Calmly sipping tea) I’m actually doing great. Yoga was good this morning, and the house is quiet.
Julian: (Genuinely confused) Then where did this come from? It reads like a scream from a basement. You talk about being "meant to be put to sleep." It’s terrifying.
Elias: It’s freewriting, Julian. It’s what happens when I let the pen move without the "conscious me" standing over it like a guard. Most people see unpleasantness like this and immediately try to sweep it under the carpet. They ignore it, they distract themselves, or they medicate it away. I used to do that, too. I couldn't even look at the darkness.
Julian: But why look at it if you're feeling fine? Why dig this up?
Elias: Because it’s already there. We all grew up subject to the whims and emotional disturbances of our elders. As children, we had no voice, no power. We swallowed their anger, their sadness, their inconsistencies. That energy doesn't just vanish; it goes into the subconscious and stays there, unhealed, because we were never allowed to let it out.
Julian: So this paper... this isn't how you feel now?
Elias: It’s a historical record. It’s the "liquid fire" that emanates when the soul finally breathes after being stifled for decades. My guru taught me that you can’t fight these emotions. If you fight them, you give them strength. You have to acknowledge them, embrace them, and let them flow through you.
Julian: But it’s so visceral. "A desert of paltry desires." It feels like you're judging yourself.
Elias: That’s the point of the questioning technique. When that "pitiable" voice comes out, I don't run from it. I look at it and ask, "Is this me, or is this just an old echo?" By witnessing it without judgment—the way my guru embraced everyone who came to them—the darkness loses its grip. It subsides.
Julian: I think most people are afraid that if they look at that "shitty faced" part of themselves, they’ll get stuck there.
Elias: You only get stuck if you resist. When I let it flow onto the paper, it leaves my body. I can feel the pain of others—bereavement, loss, disease—because I’m no longer using all my energy to keep my own basement door locked. I’ve accepted whatever is coming because I’ve finally stopped being afraid of what’s already inside.
Julian: (Looking back at the paper with less fear) So the "precarious existence" isn't a threat. It’s just... the truth.
Elias: Exactly. The wind only howls if you build a wall for it to hit. If you’re open, it’s just air moving.
Julian: But why is the wind so loud for everyone else? Everyone seems so... overdrawn.
Elias: Because they’re searching for the "quiet" in all the wrong places. They think peace is something you find outside—in food, work, movies, or travel. But as masters like Thich Nhat Hanh or Sadhguru teach, you can’t run away from life. Wherever you go, your mind follows you.
Julian: So the mind is the problem?
Elias: No, the mind is a tool—perhaps the most powerful organ we have. But it’s an organ our education system completely ignores. We are taught to absorb information like sponges, but never taught how to manage the restless energy of the mind itself. Living each moment consciously is the only way to channel that energy. Without that consciousness, the mind is a wild power that can wreck a human life.
Julian: So the freewriting is your way of practicing that management?
Elias: Exactly. It’s taking the "liquid fire" and giving it a conscious channel. It’s moving from being a victim of the mind to being its caretaker.
The Conclusion: Embracing the Inventory
The dialogue between Elias and Julian reveals a hidden truth about the modern psyche: most of us are walking archives of unexpressed history. We spend our lives polishing the "conscious" self—the one that meditates, works, and loves—while the "forlorn soul" remains locked in the basement, speaking a language of liquid fire and angst.
By allowing that raw, unedited voice to flow onto the page without judgment, we aren't descending into madness; we are performing an act of radical hygiene. We are clearing the "subconscious storage" that was filled during the powerless years of childhood.
When we stop fighting the darkness and start witnessing it, the "precarious existence" transforms. It is no longer a threat to be feared, but a landscape to be explored. As we learn to embrace our own "useless shit" with the same unreserved compassion shown by the great masters, we find that the howling wind of the past finally runs out of breath. We are left not with bitterness, but with a profound, grounded quiet—and a heart finally open enough to hold the pain of the world.
