It Began

 



It began in cyclonic circumstance, with the wind whipping off Bondi Beach as he struggled through a gale up and down the beachfront. There was no life. The bars were all closed or closing. There were few people about. The gale was a dark force, or remained dark within him, as he fled sanity and constellations of connected intelligences and instead buried himself in the ordinary, a collapsed individual seeking abnegation. 

It was hard to know what brought it on; although the Sense8 style hiding from other operatives was always a part of it. 

He could hear them echoing in the land beneath the escarpment, propelled from the deep spirits of the forest, caring for what he did not know. 

He really did not know.

He moped around the house and lamented getting older, more ordinary, more convinced of deceit and abnegation and ordinary things; longing for purpose or confidence or identity, or just youthful determination.

He prayed for courage, strength and determination, and all he inflicted on himself was weakness. It made no sense.

He said farewell to that flurry of highly evolved and technologically advanced empaths, leading to a different realm and a different style of consciousness.

All of which he ignored. Or denied. And from happy, healthy and productive he shrank inside an envelope.

And waited for the storm, the gale, those dark winds, to subside.

Meanwhile the world was blowing up, and most of his old friends were also on the edge of defeat. 

Find strength within yourself. Acquire wisdom from the gods. Spend time in nature. Be positive, healthy and productive. And go Walkabout.


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