Rain Down

"Yet mystery and imagination arise from the same source.

This source is called darkness. . . .

Darkness within darkness, the gateway to all understanding." -Lao-tsu



Someone told me once that they thought I was bi-polar. Someone told me once that they thought I was crazy. I suppose both are probably true.



There are some of us who understand darkness. Well, let me rephrase that. We may not understand darkness, but we feel at home in it. We are the ones they call freaks, outsiders, weirdos. I don't mean literal darkness, as in the night... Although that usually feels more natural to us as well. I am speaking of figurative darkness. I won't try to explain any farther, because it is not easily described. I'll suffice in knowing that those in this place will completely understand what I'm saying.



Let me say this though, there are different types of darkness. There are definite places where one is not safe to be. Sometimes it can be intoxicating, and you fall so hard and fast that to those not able to handle it, it becomes like a jailer. There is a difference, a very fine line between darkness and depression, much like the thin line between genius and insanity. One never experiences the one without tip-toeing into the other.



It is important to be positive in your life. In truth, what you send out into the cosmos will most definitely return to you in time. I'm not trying to argue that point. But there is also a balance that one must maintain. Like the yin yang, you cannot have one without the other. They are the perfect symbiotic energies. I think it's a mistake to discount and try to 'push away' the darkness. Without embracing the darkness completely you cannot experience the light. Of course, that's simply my opinion.



I am in a moment of that darkness now. I feel changed when I'm in this state, but I like it. I just have to be careful. In any case, I only feel moved to write when I'm here. So I'm going to share it with you.



Puddles

There are times like this; dark times,

When the tiredness quietly crawls back into me,

My thoughts collect like puddles in a storm.

And the restlessness peeps its head out to play.



It’s in these moments when I feel the weight of my existence,

The centuries and eons that have climbed upon my back.

There are memories that exist just outside of my understanding,

And the blood in my veins feels thick and sluggish like sand.



How I wish now that I could glimpse something of the truth,

Some tiny thing that may explain what it is I hold inside.

At times I feel as if I’m hollow; some empty cavern

That was left behind when the creature left the nest.



Then there are moments when I walk as if in a dream,

And I wander at the layers upon layers in which I’m embedded.

Always I feel that I do not belong here; something is wrong.

Too long have I questioned myself for rhyme or reason.



There are never any answers to be found.

I sink farther and farther down into my wasteland.

It is not a bad place,

I am more at home here than I’ve ever been.



It’s not that I’m drowning in depression,

It’s that I feel the darkness inside of myself.

The chaos, the part deep down that drives me to move on…

It is where my spirit dwells.



I suppose everyone thinks this to be a bad place,

I cannot show it to them, so they cannot know.

I do not feel afraid to be here, it is home.

My heart feels at peace in this place.



Wrapped up like a newborn babe,

My beginning was here, in my infancy I was led away,

For whatever reason. And now I cannot return.

I wonder if I am missed, does emotion even exist in that world?



It seems to me that in this place, one is never missed.

When you are there, you are free.

The world is inside of you; you are never alone.

All is one. One is all. Connected. Completed. Safe.



And so I close my eyes.

Straining to remember what my peace was like.

Feeling somewhat lost and abandoned.

I am but one tiny star in the sky.



How many times have I asked for guidance?

To be shown only the path

That may lead me closer to this goal

Of returning to where I’m meant to be.



Perhaps they have given up hope,

So long has it been that I’ve been away.

Yet they are wise, and they are patient.

I hear their voices carry across my mind.



Always there, just out of reach.

I’m sure now that they watch me.

This time and this place has warped their truth,

And I have been trapped by a false fear.



To them I must be like a soft wind

That blows across their face.

They feel me, as I feel them.

Tugging gently at each other’s memory.



Somehow, in some way…

I know that they are there, the others, listening for my return.

Wait for me, my family.

I am coming home.