As I write this, its early in the rising day. Before the hustle and bustle begins.
That hustle feels like an addiction of a kind.
Without it, it becomes so easy to surrender into the trough of nothingness.
A lazy hazy resistance to the push for compliance with what ever it is we believe we must do to be.
But we resist the haze and…
Early morning thoughts shower like daggers through the mind.
Self cutting with should be and should do.
Sometimes leaving us to cower in the dark, in dread of the rising sun.
The call to duty…
We drag ourselves into service of the tasks we believe we must do, to fit the notion of all that we should be.
But it rarely works as a conscious endeavor.
We submit to the call by surrendering the musings of our soul, back into the shadows of our mind.
And there our musings sit, waiting in a fever of discontent, waiting for the next crack in the wall, through which they can rise.
As the days pass we guard against that rising, by way of addictions and ego.
The mind thinks, but can not know and so guards against the musing’s shadow by projecting mind-fear into our hearts.
A measure of success is the reward for surrender to mind.
But it is a success woven with anxiety, imparted by daggerous thoughts, that keep the muse subsumed, and activates the programmable self.
And the muse out of love and despair, persists in seeking out the cracks and scribbles between the lines in an effort to call us back to the shadow… to inhabit our truth for a time.
And sometimes we do fall through those cracks in the walls of resistance.
Cloaking ourselves down under the covers of dark muse.
Peeking out at the shafts of light calling us back into the fray.
But turning our back to those shafts, so to cuddle in the womb of our soul.
We are renewed to live again.