Real

Real doesn't have to make sense. It's not imaginary; it's not symbolic—real is beyond. Real just is. It doesn't have to comply with the imaginary or the symbolic.

It arises out of nowhere. Suddenly it erupts; it manifests without invitation. It returns when no one even remembers that it existed— and that's how we meet.

It doesn't fit into predefined structures; it doesn't fit into how things are supposed to be, how everything should be. It's just this. And it's here. It's with us.

Its existence acutely manifests limit. Limit appears when there is something or someone beyond; that's when we become aware of limits—it's beyond! It's beyond meaning. It's beyond the imaginary. I can't imagine. I can't imagine. It doesn't make sense. I don't understand. It's not how it should be. It's not what I expected. It's not what I imagined. It shouldn't happen. And yet it is.

Encountering the real.