Everyday is a constant struggle. Brief moments, perhaps illusions of inner peace are few and far between. Starting over is refreshing at times but not in these times of doubt and desperation. I start over and over every day trying to defeat myself in my own unconscious aim to drive my mind into oblivion beating down my brain with unsolvable problems. Trying to fight the inevitable fact that there are times in life where one is the leaf, and other times when one is the wind, now it is my time to play the part of the leaf, still I swing my arms and blow till I am blue in the face trying to become the breeze that blows me home. A better life, reputation, secular wealth, spiritual knowledge, and perhaps ignorance. I start over and over again having the hands of life deals me new cards but time and time again I cannot find my hand well enough to take down the house, the house always wins. I have nothing again. My chips dwindle and I watch them fall wondering how many more times can I call before my luck has finally run out. Just once I want for my bet to yield a return, someone to stay. If I could only forget all the hands I’ve lost then I could enjoy the game again. All too well though I remember and forget I cannot my various shortcomings. I know I will soon start over again, I hate this game. So badly I want to cash out and go home. Where is home? These people at the table I do not recognize, why did I play into this game? I pray for the strength to one day forget the game and go home, only I don’t know where home is and I need someone to show me. So I read, I watch, I analyze. Fruitless as of yet my efforts are. My hands are shaking even now. Familiarity is no comfort, I cannot stop my mind. Thinking in circles is something I seem to be doing well. We all need something to believe in, something we can trust. We walk blind through our existence but if I am holding your hand then at least I know where I am in relationship to you and if you hold my hand then I know I am not alone. Too often someone tells me to hold onto their shirttails and in the end I realize they were never there and all I’ve held onto was cloth with no real consciousness. Material is not the definition of existence. The man who is devoid of senses is not devoid of existence. Nothingness is however something that can be felt. There is a distance between all things but that in itself can connect them through the common bond of shared nothingness at least this is easy to see on a material level. The human condition craves this connection between things, a connection to the body we occupy but more than all other things this longing for a connection between our existence to another’s existence. This idea that we are not alone. So we reach out franticly to touch something and say “I am here, here I am” because I can feel something so I know there is something there, I am not simply floating in this nothingness alone with only my thoughts. Close your eyes and feel all that you are a part of, everything. Some of those who extend a hand, will never reach us though they try. It is merely a brush in passing. One minute they are there, we call out a moment later and they have gone. We feel the sublime, as well as the numb. Reach for you as I may, and chase after love as I might I cannot catch that which is inclined to run, and run as I will I cannot run from myself. Close your eyes, shut out all the world as you have dictated to you by your physical senses, what do you feel? Where are you now, what is around you, what existence coincides with yours? Some days I am floating and other days I am falling, one day I hope to be here, and know where here is because I feel the world that needs my existence to know where it is too, then we can know we are not alone. This is what is necessary to go somewhere, to know where we are. Sing, dance, but first hear the music.