my face a waxy grey

my insides like molten jello, no strength in my legs, eyes sanpaku, all is unbalanced in this endeavor. what humans survive knowing there is little hope of being anything once there is an end to this. i have seen cancer survivors, still battling the effects of the chemo years later, this is like that, the cure is what kills not the disease. there is a lot to be said for surrender to the end, the death if that is what to be, no longer struggling, bartering, fighting the inevitable. for it is the ego that tries to change the result, wants to control, not the being not the spirit waiting patiently for the release or continued bondage of the flesh. wicked self of desire, wanting to live in this world of delusion, a falseness that is so supreme all are its willing victims. even the plane and passengers go nowhere, the earth a thought forgotten, then later remembered as the plastic and metal shudders and shakes for hours. nowhere am i, not here there anywhere. that i is not and never was, i remember the dream not the waking, the paradise of love and suffering, the homeliness of the chair and fire. i write and read in simple joy, sipping my hot beverage in a pool of yellowed light. Where was that, who was i, how did i forget such things. the little self expires in increments, the rest is just waiting for ripeness, doneness, time succeeds where i fail and all is that sumptuous feast of life and i the invisible man awaiting some realization, some human contact that never can return.