Lately I've been in a dark place mentally. It's like a fog as receded into the inner place of my being that prevents me from really seeing what is real. In turn, this blindness has effected my core, and I feel relegated to think only the thoughts of those around me who have paved the way to where I am today.
Creativity becomes stifled, memory clings to little, and my mind becomes so wrapped up in the really real that the only place I find comfort is sleep. Even as I type I feel the horizon dim ever so slightly, so that thoughts violently shake against my foundations to burst forth.
I long to be my own, to find my voice in the wilderness. The dark cloud is elusive, and object or being that has accompanied me for too long. I find that my pilgrimage into knowledge and the reality that surrounds me helps. This is part of the fog, reality, knowledge, and the pursuit of it all.
The fact that I'm straddling two worlds, a modern and postmodern and living in a mostly modern world deafens me to gather the sounds of reality into a coherent package or picture that I can carry along with me. I'm torn and retorn, cast and drawn in.
This place mentally that resides inside of me, the dark place has light that dances around the fringes breaking hope onto my path. When my head hangs low and I frailly fumble in the darkness, I find myself close to Reality, the really Real. Truth, reality are not abstract vapors to somehow gather into glass jars, but alive and near. It is in the lowly that I find myself, because it is in the lowly that I find God.
As my head is forced into my hands because of the blur, God is there. As I wrestle to find myself, God is there. And as broken as I am, God is there.