Having decided to go out in a whisper, this vignette, blows through and around the bones of the no longer relevant truth.

It is a wonder how something as simple or complex as a paradigm shift, can usher entire worlds in and out of existence.

I've clung to this narrative that I am a prisoner in my own mind.
That some usurper took the reigns when I was otherwise too weak.
I needed to believe that, that there existed a power beyond me.
That there was some distinct discontinuity between us.

And if we are indeed one and the same, we are also different.
There was strength in being divided, separate, unique.
I've not yet created a reality where being a singularity is supreme.
So I cry out in agony, united in my unknowing.

I write to shape this new form, this new being, this new structure.
I write to fight against the unmaking of my self.