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 strong or do I sound small?

Can anyone tell I am vacant of myself?
I can answer that, 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 begging my lungs to breath.

Do I want to fight?
Or is this where I finally get to let go?
If I want it deeply will I try too hard?
Will you accept scratching and crawling trying to claim a balanced ground?
Will you take me as I am.

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 eyes can see. Is this real? Who am I? Why am I here? My cries fall on deaf ears. I feel alone again. 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 I am so hot that once again 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 hidden deep inside.

Answers don’t live in extremes like monkeys waiting for death in between.

Quiet. Just be quiet. You stubborn queen.

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