The storm within

The ego isn’t the enemy, it just needs guidance from the self to learn how to connect with the source. Then all will be OK. Well, mostly, and through continuous management. The reason why the ego resists input so much it’s because it needs to first wipe out all formed foundations and rigid opinions that makes it feel so sure and offers so much security. I remember being torn apart from the inside out. Bleeding from places I couldn’t bandage, broken spaces that couldn’t be physically repaired. Day after night after day, a weight without mass, an emptiness without void. An eloquent insanity that a little bit each time consumed me whole. Over, and over, again. My ego was lost in a kingdom of fake magick and broken mirrors. An endless field of staircases that most lead nowhere. Where up is down and down is up. Where everything that’s there, is not there at all. Each time the Ego thinks it sees the light, reaches for it in hope that this will finally be the attained definite tangible salvation, but just as real as the promise of deliverance was, so is the smoke that it goes up into, and the road to clarity shatters before its very concrete imagination, spiralling in a confident muddle, leading down a never-ending pit of infinite ambiguity. Each day, that may as well be night, I begged “Oh please stop. Let go of me. Let me at least cry it out.” But no. This wasn’t a pain that could be washed away in a bath of tears and snot, and uncontrollable sighs. I wasn’t even sure that this was pain. It was a laborious numb agony. Each instance I prayed for releasing. Each moment I sought liberation, I looked here, there everywhere. I tried and I tried. I tire of trying. Each instant, each step, each beat. Lost. It was then during a stormy night, after many countless unaccountable occurrences in a life of innumerable limited experiences. I don’t recall if the storm started up above, or down below, I wasn’t sure then and I am not sure today if the storm started within or without, but it shook the heavens and as sure as hell, it shook it too. I shuddered. I attempted to block out the noise. I fought hard and long to not give in. I sat alone. I blasted the music on the headphones. But I couldn’t dodge it. I lay down and waited it out. I pretended it didn’t bother me. I pretended bravery. I faked everything I knew and could. But finally, I howled. “I GIVE UP. You win. I GIVE UP.” I started to cry. “Take me. Just take it. Take it all.” I had nothing else to barter it with. “Take all that I am. I GIVE UP. I surrender. Please. I surrender. Unleash upon me all that you’ve got. Rip me into oblivion and scatter me around. I surrender.” I screeched. Like a wild beast. The storm stopped its racket. I thought I was going crazy. I felt I was being mocked, by the weather nonetheless! I felt the aching slowly subsiding. A sense of calm sipped through my skin, invaded my body and lulled me to a frightened serenity. Then the storm whispered one last time before it went on its way “Don’t ever fight me again. You hear me? You can’t win a battle when you are the opponent.” I knew I was about to lose my mind, I tried to produce the courage to protest, one last time, put up a fight against this insanity, try to gain control of my mind once and for all. The storm roared one last time as a severe reminder and hushed me into accepting lucidity