I'm not sure I know how to 'be' anymore. The past months, I've been a vague, contentious thing. So much of everything I've known about myself has come under deep scrutiny; everything from my morals to my abilities and possibilities, under a microscope and faltering.
Nobody tells you evolution can be such a blank, dreary process. A time stuck in an eclispse, daring to figure out if it is night or day for there is both a moon and a sun. And they appear to be married.
Nobody tells your evolution is that period when your soul is reshaping itself to adapt to the aegis of a new world--
--- trying to learn itself a novel set of physical and mental forms, morphing.
That period when your soul is in the process of becoming so it struggles to recognize its own self.
I have been very listless the past months. Something has been haunting me, but I can't say for sure what it is. I stare at my writings. They stare back at me. We like what we see in each other's eyes. But we are scared. We are very scared.
Today, Divine told me not to give in to the pressures of my external world. That blinding world that moves so fast, so explosively, like a storm of lights.
Divine reminded me to trust the process.
Inside the process, he says, it is difficult to acknowledge your self as something that IS because you are BECOMING.
You are a Continuous Tense. And continuous tenses are not like the rocky certainties of nouns. They are motions, are unfurlings.
Divine says I am, now, a concurrent entity. I am "personing", "selfing", negotiating the new phenomenons of my existence, my purpose, my skill and my own clarities.
Divine reminded me that my pain is one of adjustment. He says I am learning a lot, and unlearning a lot. Those times, he says, when you feel like to fall into deep sleep and let the day fall away--
--those times you feel like waking up only when the sun is over---
--those times you feel too weak to rise from your seat, when you can't find your energy --
-- those times, he says, you have run far up the hill of your undulating becoming, and your soul would like itself a cup of tea, a morning cuddled by warm sheets, gazing at sunrays on an unpainted walls, or a night of quiet stargazing, devoid of contemplations.
Divine says it is glory that wakes me up in the morning.
And it is to glory that I rouse daily not knowing what I be.
That my indefintion is, for now, a flawed superpower. That one day, when my definition comes, I will hold a crystal over the globe, and bless it with soft light. He says I will tell of patience. Of the glory in not knowing.