Dear Pneuma,

I am in that state of loneliness that leads to self-determination.  I don't understand how it is that other people don't seem to end up here.  It is a state of being where I wait for my inner self to spur me in some direction. The voices of others, duties, obligations, even enthusiasms don't carry any weight here.  Surrounded by oughts, shoulds and needs, my body/mind refuses to move.

This is a place of anticipation.  I have an expectation that when I do move, it will be toward something wonderful.  Yet, I am also impatient.  My conscience would rest easier if I could just stay busy during this waiting time-plant that garden, or finish that big project at work.  If I knew I was accomplishing something-completing or contributing- but all my energy is inward focussed, and I have nothing extra except the desire to sit in my yard and be.

In this state, I know myself as separate from everyone else.  I, being fully in myself, realize that hardly anyone actually sees me.  They see reflections of their desires and frustrations, lived out through my actions and inactions.  There is judgment of motive and worth based on something outside my control and actual participation.

This is both glorious and tragic.  I suddenly have deep ideas I wish to communicate and deep feelings I wish to share, but I haven't found people that understand.  There is intellectual engagement without commitment, and there is touching without tears.  As people respond differently from my expectations, I fear speaking.  I have an urge to pull away and shut up.  Showing my true face and having people look past it hurts.

As I said, this is a place of loneliness.  Yet, it is a good place for me to be.  Real stuff is born here.  This is where I learned God.  This is where I learned Love.  This is where I learned Connection in its deepest roots.  This is where I learned that all that is born in my life is decided by me.

Love, Guilt, Purpose: I cannot look outside myself for these things.   They don't come from anyone else.  They come from inside.  They come from that place in the core of me that I cannot fathom or know, that place beneath words that cannot be moved, and which arguments cannot sway.  They come from something outside any concept of self that can be conditioned, trained or therapied into reason.

I believe that is the place where God resides, and the motives that are born there are God motives.  Still, through some process I don't understand, the world teaches me to ignore that inner motive, to distrust and push it aside for more practical considerations.  The imagery of the outside presses itself against me.  It shapes and molds my expressions.  It squeezes and contains my being.  It tries to exert itself as truth, and I am left naked in myself, to choose one set of motives over the other.

Naked, insecure and alone.  Lonely.

Knowing everything is going to be all right,
Cobalt Dreams.