Endigar 302

I feel sadness at the loss of my mother…long before she died.  I feel sadness at the loss of my soul, long before I left home.  I feel sadness, grief for me.  I cannot save myself.  I am angry and hurt that there is not a god, Christian or otherwise, that can free me of this feeling of being cursed.

I have meditated on this sense of purgatory in my daily living.  The question I have often asked is, “Am I being punished?  If so, what am I guilty of?”

I am now feeling something else, a fear…not as deep as this sadness, but more urgent.  It is a fear that I will be misunderstood.

And futility settles over me, like the dirt shoveled in over a new grave, holding my lifeless form in place to complete this circle of life…

What shall I do after my Father passes?  He is really the last vestige of connection with my family of origin.  I am afraid that my brokeness is apart of my destiny, that these times require someone, not with great talents and skills, but with an intimate and unflinching association with death.  Someone who has finally embraced the black mantle, who can do the unthinkable…because it is what our species needs to move forward.

Illusions of grandeur?  They seem to make the pain turn to serenity for a moment, and offer a validation for this hidden suffering of mine.

New question; “Is this brokeness meant to be fixed, or is it meant to be embraced?  Do I feel cursed because I resist a purpose?  Do I resist a purpose because I fear being misunderstood, because I may have to fulfill it alone?  Others will only try to fix me.  If I accept myself, will I become unacceptable to society?  Is love too risky?  Is pulling others into my intimate sphere without an escape a terrible thing, making me like the god concept I resent?”

All of those who have a room in my intimate sphere also have a life beyond me.  My slave unfolds, has a husband, has reconnected with her own destiny in Academia.  My children have each other and an enviable network of support.  They know a confidence in life that I would like to have had as I entered the adult world.  And my Father will pass beyond the veil.

But this woman who has brought the possibility of love into my most intimate sanctum teases me with the idea that it could actually take up residence here.  Is this a message from a caring Universe?  Or maybe this is just another way to push forward the dagger of futility deep into my gullet so that I will not forget, that I am a servant of Death, and that purpose is superior to any human love I feel.

Temporarily, she came to me.  The curse lifted.  “Maybe I could have a co-conspirator in life.”  But I fear this dark mantle weighs heavy on her.  Maybe she is like me, hoping for an escape from what she is.  An ideal world in which together, we push out all other realities and nestle on an island of exclusiveness.  Now, I am sure I have misunderstood her vision, so I await her descriptives, to see if she can find the place of clarity to show me her home world.  I fear that I may actually be a blade in her flesh, as well.

What does our freedom look like?  If it is expressed, will it be a one way ticket to the human zoo?  Wanton, unruly, filthy, and vile?  Not good, not bad…just something necessary for a world in disequilibrium.

I don’t know.  I have a disease of perception.  I am delusional.  But, I am.

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