Coming Home

Awash on the shores of humanity, where is the escape so cleverly promised to one and all? Alone and lost, the tides seemingly ebb and flow of their own accord. United in defense of our imagination, we create the worlds in which we populate ourselves and our pleasures.

Striving for supremacy, we always seek balance and ultimately gain nothing. Passing time, we create existence.

Encompassing our thoughts, we take refuge in our reflection and so come to know of ourselves. Seeing is believing and convinced do we become that our conviction stands steadfast. Alone and lost, we are neither and both.

Gaining a foothold in our environment, we relish life and living only to become subjected to the whims and chance encounters seemingly beyond our control. Controlling, we become the controlled.

Everlasting in perpetuity, we endure ourselves until that fateful day when we realize that something beyond the edges of our imagination is what drives us on. The slave looks upon the slave master and realizes that one cannot exist without the other. What is there left to do than to be as we are in total disregard to the propensity for living. Alone and lost, nothing remains for us but the refuge of the home in which we have never left. Letting go is the only option.

Falling from grace we feel the pain of exclusion. Getting over ourselves, we realize that neither events, in reality, ever occurred. Waking from the living dream, we wonder at the wonder of ourselves and see nothing else.

Coming home, we find that we never left.

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