Dirty Little Rooms

More and more, I am beginning to love the things that make me the most uncomfortable. Upon further review, it has grown past a state of morbid reflection. Morbid reflection is creating an illusory condition that absolves itself in emotionalism, yet nothing is ever resolved. These weeping, crying and depressive states are not the prize, are not mandatorily required and can never be justified as a psychic antibiotic. They are simply misinterpreted visions of my inner state. It is like trying to clean a room that is filled with clutter. Moving clutter to make way for the broom and mop, then shifting the clutter back to the same place and wondering why the room looks unkempt. So in an effort to neutralize my emptiness, I go out and buy more clutter. With heavy mind feet, I trod through the isles envisioning one whim after another stating, "That is it," or "This is what I was looking for." How heavy my feet have become, how much my back is aching, I think I'll have some aspirin before logging all this new clutter home. I wonder if it would be okay to stop all this nonsense. If I see, if only I see and allow myself to consciously drift away from this clutter, there is a possibility of something new, something clean and something different. I question and entertain the idea that maybe the emptiness is something I should cling to, for a moment, rather than simple re-arranging or diagramming a prognosis. Hmmm.... What if I allowed the dirty little room to remain there for a moment. What if I just sat back and did nothing, bought nothing, sold nothing nor schemed anything. Would it be possible to shift away from this nonsense long enough to let something else shine through? Whether yea or nea, as long as it is not that. Blessings, r