The Pale Blue Eyed Man

There was a man at this party. Tall, charismatic, not good-looking per se but with a “je ne sais quoi”. He was entertaining, that is for sure. Everyone was looking at him and they seemed to be having a good time.

His jokes were not really rude, nor were they really offensive to anyone.

The information he was sharing seemed interesting enough even though, it was hard to know to what extent it was true.

As to the smile he was sharing with the crowd, how genuine was it? Nobody could have said, but they were enjoying the easy laughter.

Not once was he dismissive with the waiting crew, but at no point was he kind to them either.

There was a certain loneliness in his pale blue eyes. Despite the fact he was surrounded by so many people.

Not once was his glass empty, it almost seemed like magic, but his composure never seemed to be altered by it.

At first, like everyone else, she was kind of charmed, almost entirely under this dazzling spell. But the distance, in some ways, was sparing her. She had always loved to observe, she was the type of person who would be present but discreet, observing and analysing, as if everyone was the subject of an anthropologic experiment.

Soon enough, she realised that the people around him were constantly changing, they were not listening for too long. They were laughing to a couple of jokes, most definitely, and yet, still moving on after a few minutes. Like you would when you see some street performers. You stop for one, two, maybe five minutes if they really are good, but then you get back to your Saturday afternoon stroll. It was a good moment, sure, you admired the skills and the beauty of the performance but won’t think of it again.

It was the same with that man.

It would be pleasant to see him again at another party if he happened to be there, but nobody would get out of their way to invite him and see him elsewhere, create a relationship with him…

This waltz of people around him made her feel sorry for him. Not quite in a pitying way, no, more in a compassionate manner. Something unconditional. A sort of love, for she could see his hidden suffering that he probably was not aware of himself.

She got lost into her thoughts, imagining what the life of this man could have been like to make him the way he was. She saw his mid-life crisis and before that, his young adult life, his teenage years, his childhood, his past lives.

And she understood that to some extent, he chose the life he was living but was not to be held accountable for it, as he could not fully explain those choices. It was part of the process to awaken to his greater, higher self. But he was not there yet and it was not his time. The only thing anyone could do to help him was to be compassionate but nobody could make him change. That was only his process, for when he would be ready and while people could send love his way, they had no responsibility towards him. She had no responsibility towards him. The only duty she had, was towards herself.

You see, she had her own growth to take care of. She was more aware than he was. Not to say she was enlightened. No, not yet, but she knew about the concept and the very fact that she did meant she had a lot to do.

Love, forgive, learn…

She wanted to let go of the ego, she wanted to grow, she wanted to reach enlightenment. She knew she owed it to herself. And she knew that on that path, she would not be able to be accompanied by many. Some she would have to let go, others would let go of her. This is also why she could not blame that man. People are social animals and making the conscious decision to become lonelier is a hard one. She was mainly fine with the idea.

But social constructs make some things more difficult to accept, even though we know they are right for us.

How difficult is it to cut ties with a family member for example? After all, you share the same blood. It is even harder if it is your father or mother.

You feel you owe them your life, if it was not for them, you would not be here, right? Some would even say we chose our parents, the family we needed to be born into to grow.

But what difference was there between her father and the pale-blue-eyed man? When she thought about it, she realised that beyond her interest in human nature, she was intrigued by that man because he seemed familiar. She could recognise in him so many traits she could see in her father.

But then, if she could give that man all her compassion, what could she not do the same for the man that gave her life? She should be able to. And she should also be able to feel that same detachment. She did not have to suffer for him or with him.

He could be like that stranger at that party. And maybe one day, like those performers on the street. A man she would see maybe, randomly, smile while he would perform, enjoy the moment, nothing less, nothing more.

This is when she decided it was time to cut ties. For her own good but also his. Because until she could see him with the same eyes she did that man, the only thing she would be able to give him would be resentment. Resentment for all she could see in those pale blue eyes.

But she refused to have resentment in her. She would take the necessary time to heal and one day, she knew she would be able to share that compassion with her father, just like she could do it with that stranger.