Conduit

I have always been a conduit, a vessel of thoughts and memories, often of the collective.

Fearful of the words and images that my thumbs and eyes would channel

Me, confused and overwhelmed, emotional as they flashed through my subconscious in an awakened state.

Easier to recite them in my mind then to put pen to paper, easier to whisper them to myself then to share them with my shadow,

Easier to let go of the unknown then to find understanding and meaning in these visions, images gifted, anointed benevolence.

I often find myself sickly without cause nor understanding, but easily assign words of feigned English understanding, flu like symptoms of what would appear to be a far larger ailment, one of a mind wanting to expand, at odds with rationalisation - the need of knowing when none was required.

We have diluted our senses with worldly desires, slowly letting go of the self, awareness and importance of it.

We are for we are, not because.

Dreams presenting torment and pain, where I am constantly being robbed.

I keep seeing myself being robbed, wondering familiar grounds with my maternal grandmother, unsure of the why, failing to let go, questioning when all I need to do is to follow this spiritual conduit presented as one I hold so dear.

I keep getting robbed, but upon reflection, no personal possessions are unaccounted for.

I am being robbed of myself, my spirit, my being as I continue to endure ailments I am unable to reconcile.

Left a horse of health, a strong and stern steed, feeling like a pony away from its kin, sickly, always questioning, never being.

Robbed.