The “I” of the Storm


Our individual state of awareness emerges from an inky darkness. From unawareness we rise on a wave of ideas to forge this nebulous thing we call “I”. As awareness dawns and begins to question, some of us attempt to look back into the dark from which we came – straining to understand that which now rumbles and churns beneath the thinnest verbal veil we so tightly wrap ourselves in. We feign to have emerged from this now treacherous dark to a glorious and permanent light by virtue of our verbal lightning. We smear the opaque mud of imagination on the walls of our delusional shelter by conjuring it from nothing with magic spells named “me”, “myself” and “I”… We construct our fortress with symbolic bricks built on a foundation of vapory abstractions– and use this collective illusion to lay claim to the sanctity of our mystic vision of “I am” with furious passion. We summon the fiercest of combat postures toward anyone or thing, real or imagined, that dares whisper a challenge to our impenetrable house of abstractions. Any hint that might lay bare the vaporous foundations on which the conflicted monuments of our unprincipled principles stand is cause for a fury of verbal spells to buttress our sacred identity.

English: Mountain goat Delusional goat, preten...

A mountain goat deluded to believe it is a monument at the gate.

Rather than face this perhaps unbearable truth – that out of nothing we created us and paradoxically we both are and are not what we believe we are, we instead harvest the notion that we are solid and separate through a delusional act of harpooning the turbulent darkness of cosmic air to form an imaginary wall that separates the dark from the light, the self from the “other”. “Let there be light”, we say, and there is light riding on the winds of our words. If we catch a shadowy glimpse of our impossibly true place – that which is at once no place, and every place – a recognition that we are droplet in an endless sea, and an endless sea in a droplet – if we come face to face with our opaque hold on being, we quickly repulse it with a torrent of comforting verbal spears strategically labeled to reestablish the bonds that falsely define the “I” of the storm… and we remain locked in this fight with fist and feet, apathy and passion, riding the verbal thermals that hold us aloft until we dissolve again into the darkness of the cosmic winds from whence we came and from which… we never really departed.


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