Entry 12 - Stream of Consciousness <Date Illegible>

One daughter. Purity of spirit – soaring on the wind, sharp eyes scanning, selecting, identifying. Circle in spirals up and up. Strong muscles molding the wind, making solid what should be nebulous. Ghost, a dark shadow passing between sun and earth beckoning with speed, luring into dives that tear the skin and blind keen sight. Power. It is the thing we seek. Power of ancient kinds, of long forgotten Gods melded into the One God. Fear of loss, invoke battle, call down the wrath of the world and die. Lonely, poor, and despairing. Why is that so attractive? Pride. Pride in one’s place – we all have it, that sense that we have a unique purpose. Are different. Special. Never acknowledged. Afraid. Insecure. Always looking to balance imaginary scales. We trap ourselves, binding to page, formula to number endlessly repeating the circle, spiraling down and down. The hidden. The mystery of human emotion.  Each soul, defined by bias, waiting for true love—love of self, love of others, love for things, and finding ash and emptiness. The illusion, the possibility spurs it into that downward cycle. Perfectionism. I think that R is my one tru friend. I trust her, miracle of miracles and have faith. Perhaps that faith isn’t ready.