For
me, there is detriment and also gushing. Any
sense of self-compassion that I had working for me, is in meltdown, yet
I am not afraid of this as my brokenness.
I
am the encampment in need of otherwise approval. I am in need of a breakthrough after
this as my private imprisonment resulted from my own over
zealous self-guardianship. Now I am reduced to the lowest common denominator as
self-maintenance has become a now preoccupation. I am working against a consensus projection
of myself. I have many broken unsaid
contracts with
the surround of friends in my life. Their version of me has gone
astray. Even my
own self-contract is totally out of balance. I am now a feature of some superficial
constructionism as persuasion into mental equivalency seems inevitable and an
angst eccentricity, I cannot avoid. It is a strange blend
of skillsets gained from this time spent
unavoidably doing them while watching myself in this
process. I
wish I could just play a blackout anger card for now and start from a sense of
simpleminded square one, once again. Consciousness
is the only thing that really matters and it precedes the appearance of all of
this as if this at all
that matters. My
religion of self is in a mock state but not without
a deeper fervor that
precedes and surrounds all of this, this apparent short-term
mayhem. What I am going
to do, while also watching is dynamic but without
a sense of enjoyment. Yes,
it may be quite necessary as
a healing crisis upon crisis of sorts. Yes, I would go
through all of this again if it were clearly
a necessity of soul. No, I am not
complaining, just setting a tone and a point of view to my
search for the
deeper truth to come out of me. No, I don’t really know what I am
after. But I
will when it does, is clear to me as my spirit. I can’t help it, the conventions that
I am breaking. I don’t mind the
labor and display of faults forthcoming. Who
is it in me, of me, that is calling, that requires
this cleanse and the clearing to my getting there. The
scale is sometimes overwhelming, to be in this
firestorm and yet not essentially burning. What is it in our makeup that allows
for the burn-ups or the teardowns, the annihilations, just short of
total destruction to
further define the clarity of spirit necessary for the one in each of us to be
the moving on? We all
are a work in progress. Blessed
is the process as I see with my eyes on fire, my soul humming in perfect pitch, and
breath, shared breath, as my wings
to our oneness . . .
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