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My meeting is cancelled so my attachment to the result is ruined. I am lost and upset. This brings me a deeper understanding since it was something I thought I needed. I must have been wrong. I don't know anymore. I just imagined normalcy to be the best option. This is all I have to lean on in the past so it is now just not there. Nothing to be done now. The blackness is closing in, spring rain is on the way. I feel cold and the approaching rain will surely freeze me to the bone.


I am in uncharted waters and my sails are torn. Dangers and ruin seem to line all sides of my ship which is caught in a spinning pool of drowning souls. The despair is palpable and my loss seems more keen with every rumination and further consideration. Control and the edge of existence's folly; our own need to experience things has made us want too much. Nothing yet exists now. The falling away of all that is, precedes the growth of new life. The loss of old growth is painful, the loss of the familiar is confusing; Suffering is the essential part of this movement.


Isn't it? Isn't that true? The desperation of my own life and the floundering of my ship is a terror to me. All the efforts and trials of the past now display themselves as grotesque versions of the original creations, the ship a twisted wooden hulk of its once former self. In the mists of a turmoiled sea I pull my collar closer, as if a measure of clothing could possibly warm me against the perpetual storm rising around me. The waters are dark and through the rented sky flashes of lightning illuminated the jagged rocks just below the surface.


Could this be my fate? The skeletal remains of others point accusing fingers which seem to be either warnings or directions, I cannot say. I take my place at the helm, no other options now; only a feeling of control as I lash my hands to the wheel. Now, comes the final voyage; calming my heart I let all pretense fall away. I allow myself nothing and everything, no cleverness left, it is beyond time and space for breath.


The true horror is yet to come, as I feel the ship groan under the stress of the churning seas around me. Even the sun cannot pierce the muted skies of grey and dark. There is no release from this prison of flesh but the presumption that it is death. Death is not the release we imagine it to be, it is another trap and another false awakening. It all has no meaning,



We all need to begin somewhere. I like to think that since w...


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