the weight of doubt, part I

nothing about this room appeals to me. it is a room where my thoughts race, my emotions soar, and my soul constricts. there is the illusion of life and possibility of enlightenment in this room, but to breathe this stale air is more of a gasping than it is breathing. i think my apathy towards this room is counterbalanced by its familiarity… there is something about the commonplace that allows people to overlook most anything, no matter how horrible and stifling it may be. there is an amazing sense of security in the familiar.

this room has no windows, no art on the walls, no furniture for lounging, no color in and of itself (only what others bring into the room with them). there is a door, a cement slab as flooring, and a dullness of a haze that allows me to distinguish the dimensions of the room and of my body. this is a familiar room, but i have no desire to be here… it is a place that i never seek out but end up in all the same. if i could find a way to barricade the door to this room from the outside, making it near impossible to return--somehow, i would manage to transport myself back in to this place but with the new task of clawing through the backside of a well-intentioned barricade to get out again.

this room is a prison, a cranny of hell, a shelter of doubt teetering towards spiritual collapse. nothing about this room appeals to me, but i am here all the same--unspeakably overwhelmed and...

alone.