Nothing is more than we'll ever know

It’s not what we are searching for that is important, but why we feel the need to search.

I’m here again, shutting it off, shutting it out, running away, crossing over, striving, clawing, reaching, searching. The time when all has fallen and all that could indeed fall is near. It is moving closer as I increase my need to avoid it. I’m bloated and sighing, eager and despondent, excited beyond words until this moment when I sit down and face it. Then the wave comes and it floods my senses and overflows through my fingertips and pushes the keys for me as I sit waiting and watching and hoping that somehow this purging will offer some release, some rest, some redemption from the storm of pain that I avoid at all costs. It cries forth and I cannot stop it, it lingers and stirs and encircles me, sizing me up for what I am worth and if my engery of avoidance is worth it. When the flood gates open and the expected swells do not appear but leave instead a vast silence that is at once deafening and yet only acutely present like a distant dream like voice that draws me away from the moment and into another. I am bloated, I am empty, I am in need of something, anything to cover this nothingness that I have built my life avoiding. We all have done it, but the thought of you and what you are doing now and how you are also in someway avoiding the nothing does nothing but delay the inevitable. I must face it and it comes again like a another tidal wave and it’s here and it explodes through my mind and snaps my neck to and fro and the body that I occupy revolts with it’s sudden presence and twists 90 degrees in both directions at the same time and back again in a mere second. It is beyond norms and beyond thought, like the massive wave that rocks the cultured shoreline, it asks no invitation nor waits for a thought introduction, and just as quickly it is gone, piercing time like an arrow of lightning sent through the heart and purged through every pore of the body. I is here and it is waiting, watching, wondering if the time has come to begin running again, is it intact, is it in control, is it I who moves these fingers or must I stop and be the aftermath of the wave that struck through every pore of me. The nothing that it is and is not that has left me again with nothing but the knowledge of I and every breathe it takes.