My brain storm has developed into a brain hurricane. I enter this mode on a daily, and especially on a nightly basis. The process has yielded little of the desired effect, yet I persist deeper. I encounter the fences at just about every turn with their posted signs; no trespassing, private property, authorized personnel only etc. When I bypass the warnings and cross into forbidden places I find the fruit is rotting on the vine. What was once open sacred space is now exploited and enclosed with barriers. The subjugators rapidly ruin that which naturally occurs. I contemplate relenting the search for sacred places, but I can think of nothing else available to engage in of worth. My mind spins the possibilities again looking for the slightest of loop holes. I plan and commence to apply what minute conjuring I captured. I usually find a dead end sign on the last turn. U Turns are difficult in narrow paths. In a state of perpetual dejection that ebbs and flows, I persist to wonder “Is this meant to be?” The questions take on more profound implications with each denial. On my way back to the familiar mundane place, I try a side option. The side option happens to be closed for the season. I am falling asleep on this road to nowhere with no shoulder to pull off. This road runs straight surrounded by featureless flat terrain on a humid overcast day with no AC. The mile markers are the only indicator of so called progress. I just passed mile marker 35 on this desolate road. The no U Turn signs are posted along with every mile marker. Radio signals are not being received here for some reason. My cell phone is also out of range. My GPS also lost its signal. I read a sign that the rest stop 2 miles ahead is closed. As I pass the denied rest stop, I wearily drift from thought to thought. Why am I on this road? Where can I go from here? I slowly come to a full stop in the middle of the road. A big wall with a road and field painted on it gave the illusion the road continued. I am now stuck with no apparent options left. There is nothing to go back to, and I am prevented from moving forward. I am also left with no means of communication. The game called my so called life seems to be rigged that no victory could ever be obtained. This thought leaves me deeply and ultimately conflicted. It is very difficult to reconcile my belief with my actual experience. There is a major disparity between what I know to be true of the ways of God, and such perpetual frustrating denials of almost everything that is good and beneficial. I am subjected to an uninterrupted sense of being; neglected, rejected, ignored, isolated, abandoned, shunned, discarded, demeaned, and betrayed.
In spite of innumerable attacks thru out my life on my resolve, I somehow have not gone off the deep end. If not for the grace of God I would be in a far worse state of mind and therefore would have been subject to abject base behavior resulting in even worse consequences. In many regards I am sheltered from viscous storms, but I pay for it with my freedom. I am safe, but I am alone. I have my physical needs met, but I have died a thousand deaths of starvation for love. I can dream in vivid detail of a life of substance and significance, but I wake up to the pain of monotonous routine. Where is there an incentive to hope for a better way? Where is there a divine token that promises a better future? I have tried to make it on my own and failed, yet I am the only option I have. There is no; help, motivation or sign that would move me in the right direction. I try to gather the few troops I am acquainted with, but the results are dismal. I try a new thing and it falls. I do nothing, and nothing happens. I am not neglecting the community; rather I am the one being neglected. What is to be expected of me? How can I be of any positive impact when there is no opportunity or application to do so? I failed at being bad, and even more so at being good. So then what am I but a very conflicted individual who desires what is right, but is given little to no access accordingly. As a fool I could state that a weaker soul could not endure the plight allotted me. In blind arrogance I could mention that the half of what happens to me and more importantly what does not happen would grind a lesser person to powder. Yet I am that weaker soul that has indeed fallen hard. I have stated this dilemma constantly, but with variations caused by ongoing events or the lack thereof. In a matter of minutes a torrent of negatively charged emotions flood my being. I seek an escape route of such cruel thought patterns, but the reality of my disposition overrules thus cycling me in its power. The cries remain unheard, and journals as though they have never occurred. The writing therapy is one of my outlets I use to diffuse the daily dissatisfaction in a documented medium. I thought about it, and then I thought about it some more. I prayed about it, and then I prayed about it some more. Is there anyone out there? Does anyone care? I scramble to re-enter survival mode. I use activity in place of purpose, and reflection instead of love. The compensations are not compensations at all. They are more like pacifiers. I fall again to self indulgences that widen the gaping void in the center of my being. I am lost in translation in a no stopping zone. The vacuum is my prison from which I make my plea beyond my present dimension. I realize that this is redundant and way too lengthy of a composition. What more can I say? I am weathering the brain hurricane. Will the ominous clouds roll away and the light finally shine? Will the answer be made known to my simple mind? I reluctantly close, but have no closure on the matter. Why am I on this road? Where can I go from here?