Death and Dying of the Ego Part 1

I’ve asked for help and I’ve been ignored.
You’ve offered and I’ve turned away.

What have I done wrong?
Where is that helping hand for my weary mind and tried bones?

What do I sound like in my time of need?
Is my voice the same when you come to me?
Am I confident and present or do I sound small?

Can anyone tell I am vacant of mySelf?

I’ve been here before and without question this isn’t me.

Let me paint a picture…

I am far away, deep under existence, where the air is thick and heavy, and the cold is enough to consume my every thought. There is no difference between up and down. No ground or walls to shelter me. And I am breaking. No crumbling into myself, curly up as tight as my cells can be. My eyes are glued shut, and I can’t hear anything but my own heartbeat, my voice does not work here and I’m scared.

I feel trapped.
Desperately listening to my lungs beg for air.

What do I want?
Is this where I finally let go?
I am trying too hard?

Will I be taken as I am?
Is this when I finally stop fighting for control?

Let me paint a picture…

I’m on a beach, laying with the sun on my back and my eyes are closed. My mind is wandering far past what the eyes can see. I slowly begin to question my reality. Is this real? Who am I? Do I belong here? My questions fall on deaf ears. And again I feel alone. And as my eyes open to everything around me, I feel suspiciously like I don’t belong in my own dream. “Who is the demon here?” I ask without a voice. Rising to my feet, I begin to feel my skin burning softly into the sand. I try to yell, “who is the demon here?” as I stumble to my knees. I’m blinded by the sun, and once more, I am so hot, my lungs reject the air, and I’m scared.

Are you questioning me?
Asking where the nothingness lies?
Wondering where darkness hides?
Seeking the everlasting light in the vortex of everything?

Sorry, answers don’t live in extremes like monkeys waiting for death in between.

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