The Tenebraic Pulse

I have many moments when I feel like the Wheel of Fortune smashes and churns me in its wake. We make the decisions that we make in life, but once again I feel myself plunged into that lightless depth that lies beyond my comprehension. It goes beyond my reasoning, beyond my control. If I could choose to act in a useful manner and finish the mundane tasks that surround me, I most assuredly would. Often, I feel like I carry with me a coal from the Black Furnace, and those who stand close will receive the fires of that transformative equipment, while I plunge down once again to replenish the stores of the shadowy substance.

I used to call it Hell, as if it were a location separate from my own soul. Thanks to the changes I've gone through since then, I'm coming to understand it as a very, very uncomfortable phase of transition. I feel as if I miss the opportunity to take advantage of the plunging energy, due to one oversight or another. It's like Charlie Brown and the Football, over and over again, in Tartarus. Once more I find myself denied what I desire most, due to my own devices, and their origin escapes me each time. I withdraw too far, and I flog myself for not seeing the truth in time.

The tide draws out and pummels me into the beach as if the Full Moon had risen once more to pulverize the leavings of the snails and clams from the gorgeous, individual shells to indiscriminate granules with its liquid fists. I fight it, each time, thinking that this darkness is something I can escape. From outside of my field of vision it comes, each time taking me down when I can't even muster the chance to defend myself. It's slippery, ruthless and unyielding. I can no more grasp it than escape it. I can hope only to learn from each repetition of the cycle, giving into it more and more, absorb more and more about its movements so that, by the next time, I'll end up that much closer to facing the beast and placing a bridle upon it.

I can't help but feel sorrow that the source of this conflict and suffering comes from within myself, and that others, too many others, have suffered for it. I can only pray that something constructive has come from each of their experiences with it, and that the same gift will, some day, bestow itself upon me. I merely want to know. I fear discussing when I will seek help, for the more solid the idea, the more easily it shatters when this arises. Merely, I open myself to seeking it without expectation, without malice, and know that I can find it in abundance. I will see this through.