I have been going back through some of the writing I have done over the last several years.  I guess I am attempting to make some sense of what it has been about.  Methinks it can be understood, at least in part, as an example of an awakening process of this particular soul.  Perhaps it is the fleshing out of the spiritual paradox of dying in order to live.  There is a great deal of talk about some awakening that is taking place in our world.  Perhaps it is.  All I know is that I am different than I was.  My values, beliefs, and attention have been shaken.  Attachment to my older ego identity is much loosened as well as my tendency to measure meaning and purpose against the values of culture and other people.  This older program is full of formulas whose equations required an outward focus in order to balance them.  I have come to understand that I had been programmed in a way which directed my energy away from the source of my disquiet.  As if I could find, go, fix, figure out, accomplish, and/or become, enough of something that finally I could rest.  But at the end of all things external was emptiness.  Ego’s domination was tyrannical and it only released control bit by excruciating bit. Perhaps a wiser person might accomplish this in an easier, less troublesome manner.  But it seems I required the harder way.  Solitude and death I think, preceded the birth of an awareness that I am much more than my ego and linear history here in time.  I am some distance now from much of the darker aspects of this process and can testify that all pain and grief is not evil.  And perhaps it is our avoidance of the darker aspects of ourselves that is evil and is the source of individual and societal lostness.

I have been talking to the wind

She is some comfort in that there is no judgement

I cannot bear that

Not that I do not deserve it but

Judgement has been rendered since the foundations

It permeates my being

Flows in my blood

I am guilty

But guilty does not clarify

One would think that the verdict would

Prod me in one direction or the other

But it only sits on me

Like wet burlap filled with shit

So I talk to the wind

She listens – No response

She touches me – Never wavers

She is always there

I feel her but there is no response

No positive – No negative

She is herself and moves where she wills

But I can

Say anything

Feel anything

Think anything

Want anything

It matters not to her, She is the wind

She is elemental, from the foundations

She was before me and will be after I am gone

She has seen my little story played out a thousand times

She is not troubled by my talk

She has heard it all before

I know that she knows

Yet I talk to Her and the moon and the stars and the sky

No response

I used to talk to God

It was similar

No response

But, I can feel the wind