I find myself on the edge of a cliff again, because there's where I use to actually find myself. I can't tell if it's a different cliff or it has always been the same, or if any of what I said makes any sense. I guess what I sense as a cliff is a rough definition of a position. I don't sense it as solid, but is a little less ethereal than a thought; I feel a resistance or even impossibility to apply reverse, and it certainly has some height in contrast with the empty space in front of me. That's it, there's an emptiness I bumped into (and it's not calling me!). It's funny how I don't call it a dead end, even if right now feels like there's a nothing to not-fill that declares an expectation not met. One would think I was carelessly walking on a path I thought right and then, if this happened, it could well be a dead end. Of course it's not an end, there's no such thing; and it's more alive than me.
I here find myself being the agent, I can't shake that role off; bumping into the cliff is exactly to define me, not really it, and there's no escape from that. How insane is to exist in this solid form where the molecules resist the energy that travels around... I can't get exactly where or why I'm so sensitive to the pain of definition, or if whoever I am is dependant on these encounters to feel alive, even as conscious as I am that where I'm standing is not even real. REAL... Get out!