Part I--
I write with an heretofore unknown Finality. My companion, whom I thought to be The One, is become no one. It is over. We are over. This devastating blow makes of me a sunken ship. Aftershocks may remain unknown for a time, or for ever long as I deny the Pain of the Ashes.
Save for the fluttering soul within, I am alone.
At a time like this, rebirth seems a myth; an ancient ritual performed by peoples who needed not the hope of another day, but the faith necessary for survival. A rite of passage gone from this Age.
I have not the tools of those before me. And so perish with Armageddon.
My brusque letters--the Runes of Me--soon to be buried as the Ruins of Me, in the still fertile soil of what could be, but never was. If there were a sole word--preferably one consigned to oblivion--to announce the leaden gravity of the hollow heart, its mere utterance would be my epic telling of Human Suffering.
Mis-pronouncements of my sorrow be damned!
Interlude--
Karma pounds the mold of me, hot on the anvil of my torment,
forging of me a cracked and broken shell.
Part II--
To surmount the Wall of Suffering, one need not physically scale its unrelenting and unforgiving heights. Seek, instead, the keyholes in its structure--and their many keys--to break down its boundary.
The element of Focus is one of many essential keys. Mind-alteration, Change of Perspective, Busyness, Imagination, and Distraction may also come to the aide of the downtrodden. When the alchemy is right, a state of being is achieved that transforms the Poor of Spirit into the Richest in all Babylon*.
In such a state, possibility becomes actuality. The slate of Me, Myself, and I, is wiped clean and the strained soul is left free and clear. Hard, Soft, Up, Down, Right, Wrong--all are on suddenly equal ground.
Where the cleansing stage can go astray is also where it can propel one forward. While in a Heightened State, if one does not summon the Whole of the Self--all that one has been, seen, and experienced--to the forefront of the conscience, then the Core of the Self--with its inborn courage and power to thrive--flickers and flashes until either its signal fades or is seen for the beacon of salvation that it is.
Break or Bend. Give or Give In. Throughout the self-cleansing process, one will be taxed to one's limit, and must trust in the Togetherness of Things. It is the Glue of the Universe.
All things begin and end with all things.
And so will begin and end with this Awareness.
The Bane of Togetherness is the excess consumption of Gossip, Comfort, Deception, Lackadaise, and Peacockery...These latest elements break down suffering in the reverse: their accumulation lends to a withering death of spirit.
With unrelenting effort, one will become adept at recognizing The Bane, and will no more fall prey to its pounce and tackle.
By maintaining one's center--and connection with all things--The Bane will slide and glide from the Self like water from the feathers of a diving bird.
Interlude--
Irony is not known for its Sense of Direction,
but for its Lack of Discretion.
Part III--
The push came without a sound warning. Falling backwards, arms flailing for purchase, anything to soften or delay my inexorable crash and bang against the cold and lonely ground.
And then I knew Nothing.
It was some time before I woke to find no one there to lift me up. Tentatively, my fingers flexed about and gripped la terra sconosciuta**, until I rose from the Ashes.
That was the first Flight of my Finite Spirit.
It would happen again.
And once or more times after the second.
There formed a network of cuts, scrapes, and bruises; marks on the subterranean cloak of the Soul.
I healed, more or less, by faith--but not by faith alone. I told my self that if I could but learn to fall, the hurt could not last, and would, one day, go away.
Yet with every heartfelt impact, a chasm took form in my Spirit--as if the force of impact was itself a catalyst for the tectonics of my Inner Self...The Continent of the Soul adrift on an Endless Ocean of Emotion.
...
...
There is water all around me now. So many waves roar below, in the darkness. What is left of my spine is like to the sharp and gnarled cliff sides spiraling down and around me.
This is the precipice of the Last Stand...Final Destination...Everlasting Bliss.
Her hand is outstretched. She wants to save the remains of me.
I possess only enough strength for the embrace of her Love.
Still, I am falling.
Postlude--
Depression is no reason to write,
but every reason to go forth and live.
Fin
©2009 RA
*One must be made aware that almost any mode of life can lead one down the revelatory path of Heightened Awareness. Know, too, that no sole relief device should be handled for any great length, or there could develop device-reliance, and not the desired self-independence. High doses (unbalanced and habitual use) of relief, excepting Focus Work (eg; Yoga, Meditation, Archery, et al), can leave one Lost before one is Found.
**the foreign ground
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