Walls Will Fall

Its like reaching forward into endlessness. Before there were walls around me. I could feel their materiality when I reached my finger tips forward. Walls, stabilizing me as I move and don't move, orient my practice for all they block the light and weaken my inner-strength by the excess of their own. Their is a moment of disequillibrium, as I stand here unsurrounded. I am crying inside, "give them back, for the wind blows too hard and too cold. It chills me. And I am scared." Dreams are like holes that you can crawl into, deep in the dark taking a ladder down, grasping to the handholds as you descend. For all I would like to, I cannot seem to find the hole right now, for all I would like to play there, I am kept hear by a merciless panic, tempered only by the remembrance of my own ability to inhale and exhale. Sometimes I laugh at it all. Really, This life is just one and there are others and perhaps next lifetime I will ... And then that too seems absurd--to project dissatisfaction into an unknown abstractness of another chance. For what? Not losing the reins of a family put together of young love,entwining passion, solace, healing and pain. No, that is too specific, the loss is more general than that. I suppose I will rebuild these walls, of a new material and different architecture only essential in the coldest of winds.