Today I am Seeking {8}

Sometimes seeking needs time to rest, to go underground, and gather.

If you're honest:

There is so much you do not know, so much you do not understand.
So much that you cannot change, or even do,
when the world around you is spinning and mad.
Everything can feel like it is riding on something,
but then you notice your hands are tied.
Every little thing you try feels like not enough.
You would change the world, but you don't know how,
feel like you can't. Everybody has an opinion too,
and you're tired of hearing it, because nothing is ever right enough
for somebody [everybody] else.

So you go back to what was normal, before.

Except that there is no normal, to speak of.
And all you feel is twisted up inside.
Waiting for the underground, to straight up rise.

You wake up one morning,
and the Shakespeare you memorized in high school
(and haven't thought of since)
is winging through your mind:

In sooth, I know not why I am so sad.
It wearies me; you say it wearies you.
But how I caught it, found it, or came by it,
what stuff 'tis made of, whereof it is born
I am to learn;
and such a want-wit sadness makes of me,
that I have much ado to know myself. 
[Merchant of Venice, Shakespeare]

You wake up one morning, and notice
this is a world seeking strongly for recovery,
recovery from the good long broken,
which dawned pre-you, pre-this-common-era,
at the dawn of very time.

You thought it came with this now-dawning,
but it was there, before.

(Once there was a Garden, and in the Garden was the walking,
whole and full of Life, and then the broken happened,
and time dawned long and longing;
looking, looking, in want-wit wandering,
for the recovery that our very bones attest as ours belonging,
and which without, we have much ado to know our very own.)

Sometimes seeking needs time to rest, to go underground, and gather.