Knowing

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It doesn't interest me this life of drudgery, shackled to survival for survival’s sake, dying a little each day, crushed by the daily grind, suffocating under the expectations of normality.

It doesn’t interest me hearing your ideas on how I should live my life. If you were me I might listen to you, but you are not me, and the distance between us is the breadth of forever.

It doesn’t interest me this earthly life. Every day is an agony of separation from who I know I am. Every day is a struggle not to succumb to the struggle, and I continually remind myself to keep on track. There is no opting out and I will make the best of it while I’m here. I must always be remembering to let go.

It doesn’t interest me this communion of humanity. I am here alone for a purpose. Not for me family, nor community, nor even love. I’ve chased these things down, hunted them like a predator, then once captured, seen no other option than to set them free. They weren’t for me to hold nor was I meant to be held by them. 

I want to know why I’m here. What am I doing flapping around aimlessly like an injured bird? What use am I to the world? I'm not a saint. I am not fulfilled by charity or service. I suspect I am here to help others in some way but my help will be by default not design. I want to know how that might pan out but I’m still only guessing.

I want to know the moon and the stars, to feel the universe flowing through me and around me. I want to soak in the breath of all creation, revel in joy sparking every cell. I want feel my wings unfurl and spread across the sky, hiding the clouds from the sun. I want to fly as I was born to do.

I want to know reunion of spirit, free of the shackles of flawed and failing flesh. I want to be one with the void. Most of all, I want to find my way home.