A Rarity

When thoughts get so overwhelming that they cannot be expressed even when you use all the words you can to the best of your ability maybe it is time to remain silent, and let your silence speak the unspeakable. Maybe it’s the realization that you have fallen deep into a pit of self-created grayness of a sardonic reality. When the truth is right in front of us, why must we complicate matters more, in our own head and on every level of existence? And once you are done complicating things, and give up to the obscure forces of an unexplainable sort to take over logic and your reasoning ability and give in to a simple and pure form of feeling, being and existing, someone comes along and complicates things. And yet amidst all the complications, you get a glimpse of a pure sensation, not feeling, because it stems from something too basic to be called a feeling, an intensely pure sense, something that can not be explained, something that can just be felt, so pure it might get tainted by attempting to explain it. And somehow, somewhere deep inside, you know it’s irreplaceable, it’s that rarity that might be just once. And though you may be known for your grave sagacity, yet you fail miserably in holding on to that pure form that exists within your realm and is waiting to be seized. You find reasons, and explanations to run away because you get scared by the intensity of your own emotions, trembling scared by the thought of your own reactions and shivering numb at the extent of all that could be. You knew of a life without, but now that you have seen a life with, to swallow the thought of a life isolated from is a notion far beyond imagination. But the anxiety of one sidedness in any such situation is also a thought so stingingly numbing that to admit to any of the above would be the same as accepting a life drowned in callous wounds of self-pity. So you keep swaying back and forth between that pit of grayness, hanging on for dear life to the fraying rope of your so called undisputed reality, and sooner or later the ghosts from within that pit grab hold of you and try to suck you back in, and though you may struggle with them and yourself, you discover yourself inside it before you know it. And to climb back out takes the grandest of your efforts and at times may become so draining that the least bit of effort seems to require the greatest amount of all that you can not even begin to gather. And struggle though you may, the chances of coming back out look so bleak that you admit yourself to a life engulfed in wallowing desolation just to realize that there is a hand held out to lift you right out of there. Though not steady, but flickering and fading like a candle dying out, yet its presence is strong enough not to be overlooked. Dubiously you reach out, then pull back, not quite certain of what you want. The desire for it to be a steady, sure, unquivering and firm hand is fierce enough to want you to stay inside the pit, but the pull of that quivering, flickering and fading mirage is so unexplainable that you want to abandon all sense and give in to it.
So what do I do?