The more what IS opens up to me, the less of me I find remains. I envy those who can be a father, lover, husband, friend or the man who does/is his job. I am finding I am none of these things (and yet all of them to everything). Through it all, only the questioner remains, who is forever asking who am I and what IS? The questioner who shatters all of reality as soon it is grasp, leaving not even dust to float silently in the emptiness.
The agonizing part is that no one seems to be OK with their not understanding, and feels I need to be fixed, changed or more often that they have been cruelly betrayed by me, by who I am. The crushing death I often feel inside these moments is so excruciating; it seems to overwhelm the joy of my rebirth.
But the stones smile tenderly as the music carries me amongst worlds beyond the stars…
All blossoming there is inside my soul.