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Illusion8:54am monday, 5th january
It is as if I am a wind, invisible, leaving no trace — not even dust. From wind I came, and to wind I shall return; no one knows from where I entered this world, and no one is to see where I go. Why do I feel so ephemeral? What it is it about my state of mind that I imagine I have touched nothing in this world, that my fingers leave no print to whatever I handle? Perhaps not even wind: for wind, through sheer persistence, may wear down stone, and I have not such that endurance. It is a riddle, then — what am I? What is less than wind, moves through this world as if it never had been? This ghost may one day have had a life, but such is easy to forget when wandering without aim, searching for something he is not quite sure what it may be. I am just a trick of the eye: look away for a quick second and you will see an empty space where I should be.

  dh4:29am sunday, 11th january
All accomplishment was performed without feeling or motivation simply because she could do it. One task was as good as another. One goal was not more valued than another. All lay in front of her to be done or not. It was of no consequence. All that she did was for the sole purpose of sustaining action, for it was inactivity that permitted memories to infiltrate her mind with incessant torment. All that had once been an innate capacity to find meaning in suffering had left her, and with it her ability to heal her own pain. There survived merely a persistence of evasive action. Internally she experiences the most disturbing despair, the indelible awareness that she was without motive for any endeavor and in this state joy was manifestly beyond her grasp.

She felt intensely that this was not the experience of others in the world, because in vivid memory she recalled the past accomplishments of her life, achieved through some internal constraint of purpose, but in searching her memory nowhere could she discover the sensation itself that once gave zeal to every endeavor. The feeling would not be called forth. It was lost to her. This despair she believed was not a withdrawal from the world’s experience, but a recognition that her internal world was barren. The void was in the internal experience itself, and this endless recall of memory was a quest to find within herself the holy grail of desire. scribbling@mail.com

  dh4:36am sunday, 11th january
My spirit wants to be in the world, as herself. But this is dangerous as she has seen. It is to choose vulnerability. It is to make herself open and weak, and to invite fear and anxiety. If she is in the world herself and not a façade then it is her true self that is injured and not the façade. Many pull back at the first sign of pain, as she has done many times. My anxiety is that I have not permitted myself this time to pull back completely. It is a hard thing to persist in this. It is in the anxiety of attempting to be oneself in the world. There is actual danger, not imagined danger in this. It is not primarily a physical risk. It is a risk to the spirit. Particularly to the spirit that has tried, been injured and withdrawn so many times. She has put her spirit into the world tentatively, she is weak and vulnerable and afraid, and she is herself alone in this save for those who have done it before her or those who also persist. It must of necessity be this way. She chooses not to withdraw completely from this effort. She will do it or it will destroy her. She will tolerate fear, pain, and anxiety until they become transformed. She will not withdraw.

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