Digging For The Clearing

Sometimes during the day I wake up and realize that I'm still breathing.  Sometimes I wake up--even if I was never sleeping at all.  Yes, sometimes I become conscious; and my consciousness and attention emerge from the wakefulness I thought I had already been a member of.

Sometimes I think about it.  Sometimes I worry about it. But sometimes I feel the moment.  

When the moment of realization takes hold of me--I feel free.  I feel like I can do anything.  I know no boundaries.  I remember no mistakes.  I acknowledge no faults.  I look outside through the pane of my window and see more than a world.  I see myself.  But I see more than my frame.

I see what I could be.  I see what I can be.  I see what I will be. 

 When the moment leaves me, I remember.  Memories of my name come rushing to my stomach.  Like an anchor, I'm weighted down by the new realization.  The realization of reality.  But I'm learning that everything I've ever known and ever will know is completely arbitrary.

My very name is arbitrary.  

I'm beginning to realize that there is no solid foundation by which I can draw my realities from.  I'm beginning to understand that past all the supposed stable formulated columns of man--the rules of our time and generation--nothing is certain.  If anything is certain, it is that uncertainty itself is within a reasonable conclusion. 

What am I?  

Am I face you see in the daylight?  Am I voice you hear across a room?  Am I footsteps along the pavement?  Am I a picture on a web page?  Am I letters strewn across your screen?

What am I?  

Whatever you know or ever will know of me or about me--it is completely construed by what you are.  Your very perception of an elastic figure of this world will never be certain.   I will never be within reach nor within grasp of objectivity--of solidarity--of assurance.


Rather, I will remain as an ambiguous frequency of realizations, doubts, pleasures, horrors, and contentment. 

When I think I've struck rock bottom in my inquiry for self-searching, I begin to dig.  When I hit stone, I drill through.  When I hit blood vessels, I swim through.  I will never stop until I find out. 


But what are you searching for? 

I am searching for more than meaning.  I am searching for a reason.  And a reason behind the variable of meaning.

When I finally discover the truth,


I will be dead long before I am able to unveil it to the world.