interior logue

I shall write something from my heart today, because I am compelled to:

I feel that there is something dying inside, and this brings a great leap of sorrow and bliss. It is terrifying and lonely, it is a great blow to my ego, who wants everything to stay tenable, to remain constant. It is changing, friends. What can I say, my little, pathetic construct is dying, and there is a great, hollow space that inflates beyond what I thought possible. I am afraid to grow into it. It is there, waiting for me. I want to grow into this gigantic spacesuit, like a billowing dream, because at present it feels like a dream. Yet it is as real as the heavens, that is where it resides, this dream, and the heavens begin to descend into this realm. This planet is fraught with tensions, much of the universe is as well, yet there is immense strength and magnitude pouring forth. If I choose to partake, such bounty awaits me. What am I to do? Such sorrow, such gratitude; choices loom, seem forever wafting and shifting. What am I now? Changes, a shaft of light, plentitude, solitude. Loss. Gain. Shift . . .