You will understand at the rate in which you allow the understanding to come through you.

The urge to write flows down my head into my heart, through my tentacle-like fingers. Of course, from the remote percept, they aren't tentacles but instead parts of the shapeable 'me', though they do really resemble tentacles from the flowing-down-head-into-heart perspective, foreign and all. All jabber aside, I must first prep my flow which has not been exercised in... oh, long enough. (Feel free to skip down to the second paragraph.)

I have another journal I write in.

Another journal I write in.

Journals write in me.

Many a 'me' I have and do have.

Why bother asking why? It's been a while I know, dear internet. But Internet, you see, it is I that has been a while rather than my not writing in this journey... journal.

Alright, I think I'm ready to flow. Still rusty but once my gears roll I should be fluid enough.

Gathering my thoughts I find myself incompletely in sync with something I cannot quite grasp, something that is instead grasping me from afar. Like a terrible distance between the definable me and the indefinable self. As a child and young adult, holding the said thought would thrust me beyond the conceptions of being away from or towards any "thing" in particular. Rather, it put me in a place neither here nor quite as far away as one likes to imagine things as being like oneself--that is, quite vast and, as it were, far from reach. It was a place I can only identify as being as close to "Home" as one can possibly be whilst enveloped by the physical form.

I find myself forgetful of yesterday's so-called discoveries and dramas. I find myself forgetting realizations that once astounded me and purified me so intensely of my unforgiving cynical personal and world views. I find myself in a sort of dreamless sleep where only the neurons of my prison fire back and forth utterly useless and fragmented information, much of which is not even my own. Searching for something solid to cling on to, I wander around my wonderings to the only thing which logically ever truly seemed to make a difference. Might this be the result of my long gone substance abuse? (Nothing unnatural, mind you.)

Yet just as quickly as the question materializes through scenario manifesto, the thought evaporates as though it were dried up by something not quite beyond me, but not quite my definable self either. As though the realness of the situation were laughing at me for being so blatantly ignorant to what It sees as so obvious. And then I tell myself, But I have known these thought patterns before! Surely there is something here to recognise that might lead me away from this state of being, this 'here' I find myself in more and more.

Away from "here" to where, exactly?

The question tamed my mind, so I gave up. Silence is far more interesting anyway.

Of course, almost instantly I fell back into that old, familiar place I have been falling back upon almost unendingly throughout my life. That silent, mazeless and thoughtless place that is always colored in a particular shade of electric blue-cyan-indigo, with circles upon wavering circles of endless waves. I suppose it breathes in and out like I do but at a much faster rate than I care to notice.

Drifting, drifting, further away from any'thing' and further into this apparent no'thing' of comfortably pulsing light. Save for the humming of electricity in my head, there is all but silence and the winds of the atmosphere whirling around my shapely form. The warmth inside me grows. Finally, comfort is realized, and then let go of.

Everything slows and droops away to the rhythm of silence. Silence.

Emptiness. . .

. . .

. . .

And there it was. Right in front of me the entire time. Right under my damned nose. IT wasn't laughing, IT didn't even exist! I set myself up, and I was laughing at myself. And now I was understanding something so apparently obvious I found myself astounded that I cannot recollect ever reaching this conclusion beforehand.

When there is no where to go, no thing to do, no thought worth bearing, no sound worth listening to, be still.