Thus, finding myself in a state of helplessness in which no label - such as sacrifice or God or Love or Peace or Grace - have any meaning whatsoever to me, I watch something arise within from out of the shadows of all that tormenting guilt, regret, and self-recrimination. These and other dark lords gather round this strange new presence with no comprehension of what he (she? it?) is or means to them, but they are frightened by his arrival. And it's not that I don't care about what is going on. It's just that I am not there.
Something said without words - pulsating like a gentle, massaging light. Something to be known, but not by me. The guilt is me. The regret is me. The self-recrimination is me. So, too, the excitement, anticipation, pleasure. Each a little me that cannot hear...something...I know not what. For each me was me but is not me any longer. Where am I?
For a moment it seems I stand at once in the midst of and above a vast, tumultuous sea of rising and falling vibrations - each with a story to tell about itself and its experiences with me. Each enticing me to take the plunge back into the deep and violent blue waters of opposite and contesting energies so that I may know myself again. They speak in vain as I sacrifice once more this sensation of being alive. Such a poor and pathetic life to which to return. All the treasures of their world could not tempt me to give them form again.
Again, there is no me to tempt. Only there remains the listening and speaking presence in the midst of that rising and falling ocean of death. All are helpless to turn away from this towering being. All long to know its purpose. Yet, none speak its language nor think they can survive getting too close to its awful core. For now, they wait along the edges, not willing to venture too close to what is not understood, dreading this that seems to them to be the beginning of the end. It waits patiently, as if it knows the destiny and fate both of itself and of the dark mass that encircles it.
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