I throw darts at the board and fail to hit the bullseye. I'm not sure that hitting dead center is even possible. So I keep throwing in hopes that the general shape will emerge. It bothers me that I can't hit it right. I'm not entirely sure what that bullseye would mean to me. The target is not two dimensional. The target is behind the target. Hitting it with these darts is impossible, but all I have are darts.
I want to understand it. If I can explain it to someone else then maybe I'll get it. I fail every time and end up telling half-truths. It irritates me like a grain of sand in my shell.
I itch. Getting restless again. That's probably a good thing. I'm healing. I'll try not to be a jerk about it, but I can't promise anything. The music sings to me this morning. I feel it in my flesh. Sex, life, and rock and roll.
There's Purpose and then there's Form. Though in truth, Purpose is a bridge between Form and the Essential Self. The Essential Self doesn't really need a purpose or a form, but where form exists, the Purpose is always the expression of the Essential Self. The Form is not who I am. It's another dart thrown at the board. The Form can be animal, or human, or spirit, or something else I haven't heard of. It could be anything. Some forms are better at doing Purpose than others, but none of them will do it right. If Form and Purpose disagree, the Form can be damaged as the internal conflict tears it apart. With any luck, it might be reconfigured into something more compatible. Sometimes a god might smell this conflict within another and feel compelled to take action to hurry the process along. (What's a little violence among friends?) The Essential Self is immortal as it exists beyond time. The Form is not, not even for gods. The result is that you've got a lot of wounded gods walking around. Better a god than an angel though, they're pretty quick to abandon their "mistakes." A fallen god must simply heal until it's able to stand up again, and the falling, and the struggle, and the standing then become part of the expression. We come from perfection, but perfection is impossible.