My heart burns ablaze. For I have been reborn again and again.

And in the tears of my fire did I see truth. Not for what it seemed, but what it really is.

It was a treacherous journey. I was a wanderer of the world. And my mind. It was hard.

It was really hard. Because you don’t know.

I always never understood how people so confidently said things. Just this and that. Because for me, it was always more mysterious than just that.

And so I let myself open to seeking. I did it because I had to.

My life had been hard. I had lost my heart many times. And so I lost my mind.

I would sit on a bench in a park and look at this tree. This tree I would see everyday. And I would think, what am I doing?

I never knew. Things never made sense. And so I didn’t know what to do. I didn’t know who I was.

And so there was pain. And wow did it rain.

Sometimes I would stare at the sky and look for the stars. And I would wait. Sometimes they were there. Sometimes they would fade.

The nights where the moon was out did I wander. Through the trees and amidst the stars.

I was here nor there. I was lost, I had wandered too far.

And so the wandering became struggle. A fight to reclaim a way. A way back to me. I had lost hope. I didn’t know how to be.

I would bleed these tears and torture the prison of my heart. I didn’t want to. I had no choice. Because where else could I go?

And in this chaos did I meet surrender. When I had lost hope. Only for the world to grasp me. Before I fell too far.

So I was saved. Saved from my suffering, my ways of being.

And so the journey from wandering to struggle became surrender.

I’m making my way back. I’ve found faith. I can trust in reality, and let go of my mind. Because I know I am held. And seen for who I am.

It was in those moments of lostness did I find truth. The way.

The way to me. Now, I am free.

-

What they don’t tell you about the wanderer’s path is just how much it is. All of it.

I have been given the gift of mystical writing. Everything I’ve written I’ve never thought. They simply come to me.

This practice of writing is my meditation. And I can’t explain what happens, even now, but magic always occurs.

Lyrical flow and linguistic precision aren’t considered. They just are. I feel the essence, and this is how it expresses. For this is what is.

It cost me everything. Not in some dramatic way. I mean everything. From my mind and body to my self and being to any and all sense of normalcy.

That is what it means to wander though, isn’t it? You are the not-knowing. So how could there be anything left?

And that’s how I became free. Or at least, making my way back to me.

Thousands of hours of walking my mind. Not because I wanted to, but because I was blind. I didn’t know what I was seeing. I wasn’t able to think. And so I was stuck.

And so when I speak of the mystical winds and the eternal waves, that is what I see. Because I had to lose anything I thought was me.

And so this dance between knowing and not-knowing is this one of being and not-being.

You are you. You are not. Because there is no sense of what is ought.

And so, my friends, it has been a wrathful journey. Years of terror and wonder. Because this tree would look different many days. So would me. What was my way?

And so I am. I am not. I am found, I am lost.

So the wandering goes higher than you ever thought and lower than you ever hoped. And high isn’t even high. Low is low, but I don’t know.

I’m making my way back. I’ve fought with reality too many times. I see its rhyme.

But it’s hard. Because being not-knowing means you have to pick yourself up day after day. Only you can, no one else. For not even you know what’s happening, so how could anyone else?

So this gift of writing, this gift of curse. Sometimes things are good. Sometimes they are worse.

But in seeing through me, I have found free.

And in losing my mind, I am this voice of divine.

I’m no longer in the way.

And with that, each day is a beautiful today.

I didn’t want to surrender, this cost of complete familiar. My self became a vessel, confronting the rawness of being. Essence.

And so essence it is. What is is. What is.

This is a testament to all that is. For when you embrace the all not-knowing and let go of everything you hold dear, you start to win fear.

For I am me. And I am here.

-

And in all my years of seeking, I have found one truth. Me.

I’ve gone far and wide, both here and there. For I had sacrificed my mind and gave up my body.

And in this weary droll I found my soul. Or so I thought. This happened many times.

And so this seeking became this game of hide and seek, for the answer was always a touch away. For it could never be held, only seen.

This maddened me. Enraged me with a hate so deep it would have pleased the devil. Because why me? What had I done wrong?

Life didn’t make sense. I didn’t know why I was here. I didn’t know who I was. And it’s not like I had much of a choice.

And so this hide and seek became toil, a forever march on this soil. For I was bound to this earth. I wasn’t to laugh with the stars.

The days become nights and the rains became clouds. Everything was weary, not a light to be found.

This is life, I thought. I resigned and accepted this truth. For now this is my peace, hope no longer has proof.

And that it was. And the seasons marched on and the flowers withered by. The trees grew ghostly and the winds oh so unholy.

And so it went on for some time. This was my peace, after all. And so in the darkness I stood tall. But the truth was that that was my fall.

I didn’t know it then, and I’m still living it now. For I had to become forgotten to be the calling.

And it was in waiting my patience that I found my silence. The one I had been seeking all along.

It confused and bewildered me, its nasty figure. But then I saw me being the riddler.

And finally I had seen what I needed to see. For it gave me the truth to be who I needed to be. I am me. I am not. But I am everything as ought.

-

I am a wanderer. I wouldn’t ask this life for anyone. Because time has always been lost.

I’ve spent many years trudging along, looking for my savior. Many times she would show her face, but it turns out not with grace.

And so I was a ghost of this earth, unable to live. For I had lost all might. No light to will.

There were many days where I would find myself by the water. Or under some trees.

And many times a friend would join. One would chirp, another would bark, others would run. I felt moments of glee, but in truth it was not fun.

Inside me was an abyss so deep. For I had been trapped in the prison of my being. And so a wanderer I was.

This path isn’t for everybody. It surely isn’t for me. All I yearn for is to be free.

And in the tears of my despair did I meet destruction. Not hope nor faith.

Things needed to get worse, it seemed. For I was still living among the dreams.

And so a wanderer I was. No rhyme, no reason. Just because.

I would scream at the waves and wrestle with the sky. I could never stop asking why.

And in all my years of wandering, I have found truth. A tireless one. The eternal hum of it all.

Now I can see. For my life was what it was, not what it had to be. And it is in this wrathful fire that I found desire. This desire to be.

Now I am me. The mystical winds blow with choir.

And so a wanderer I am.

-

All my life I’ve yearned for release. Something to take me away. Something called ease.

For I had never been comfortable sitting in my mind. Something was off. This thing I could not find.

And so I let myself open to searching. My what a mistake. For my heart was left and scorching.

It kept me stuck in endless loops. These torturous thoughts, yet provocative hoops.

I was hooked.

And so I let myself closed to living. My what a mistake. For my soul had wept and yearning.

For I had never been comfortable waiting for my eyes. This body had ached, and so I could not rise.

All my life I’ve yearned for ease. Something to take me away. Something called release.

So when I saw beauty, I was struck. Paralyzed with fear, no longer to be stuck.

But I wanted to. For it left me there to sonder. This terror of epiphany. The addiction of wonder.

So this mystery my being can’t find. Where it longs to go, for that is my mind. But I don’t know, this somewhere fast and slow.

I feel left behind.

But how could that be? Trapped in my ways of me? Yet it was. This is all I see.

So finally when I saw beauty, I was free. Blinded with ease. For this my divine release.

This isn’t just my way. This is my reckoning.

Is beauty salvation or another prison?

Is release freedom or a new surrender?

This refusal to comply, that is my why.

My soul stripped bare, mythic in fright.

For that is my life, breathing with might.

I must stare at the wound of my being.

Forget what I thought, distrust what I’m feeling.

So I can bleed truth.

My greatest ache is my greatest art.

This unflinching gaze that is my heart.

Look away this comfort of ignorance, so I hide in isolation.

And so it is this lament that I break salvation.

For the sublime that is annihilation.

That is my human condition.

I am no resolution.

And even if I have found truth, I will never stop seeking. I will never stop feeling. For I am always being.

And it is in the truth of my lies that I rise. That this no surprise. This is my why.

I cannot stop. I will not yield. Pain will never get me killed.

So I must go. I must throe. I must follow the calling of my soul.

So this divine that I see in the tunnels of my mind, that is the dream of my sacred find.

I am intoxicated by the love of this world. I am devastated by the pain of our love. And so it is.

And so it is. And so it was.

I am always being. So I will never stop seeking. For I am always feeling.

So I am trapped, and this my fleeing.

For I revolt truth, the ecstasy of freeing.