And as I access, I see my own darkness.
The smelly festering just below the surface of illusionary happiness.
And I cry.
Convinced anew that I, along with my kind, have been exiled to a pervasive destructive existence.
Never to be free.
Our eyes blinded to the virus inside of us.
Until I dare to step into the presence of my Origin.
And then I see.
The smegol I truly are.
How arrogant to presume I could tell a tale of Felicity.
How sobering to see what I truly am.
After so much yearning.
And convinced I am, better it be, to give myself to the hunger of this monster, delaying the consumption of my silly being with not one more moment, so that I shall not be what I have been all along, but seize.
This perhaps the only gift I have to give.
The world a smidgen lighter & brighter as it is purged of what I saw, of myself, in this Presence.