I was thinking of other things… reading some prose… when the following thoughts flooded my mind. I want to warn you that they are a bit dark and not at all in fitting with the joy inherent in the present season. I feel the need to share them anyway, as they really want to be seen for some reason they choose not to share with me.
I am looking for something that cannot be found. It’s small and large and encompassing almost everything. It’s specific and precise but indefinable. It’s corporeal and spirit, invisible yet made of every color my eyes can’t see. It’s new yet older than time. It’s familiar to me but something I’ve never known or touched in any way.
I’m searching for it with each breath, with each stray thought, with the pulsing of my blood, with the rot of my mortal cells. I’m chocked up, can’t swallow, holding my breath, waiting. I’ve been waiting for so long I’m not sure I can do anything else, nor would I want to. I’m legally blind to all other endeavors, hopelessly addicted, bent, and dedicated to the search. But the search is all I will ever have of it. And yet, this search is more than the nothingness that lay at the edges of my awareness. It’s something, but nothing of substance. It’s the hope, desire, need of everything and the promise, the delivery of absolute nothingness.
I don’t know what it is and I don’t think I ever will. More than not finding it, it is this awareness that kills me because I am a person who can endure suffering but only if I know why.