St. Augustine called it imtima mea, the ‘inward dwelling.” In the East, it is called the Maha Sunn, a void which separates the Created from the Uncreated worlds, where souls wander alone being cleansed, awaiting realization of a higher plane.
For the past several years, this is where I’ve lived. From time to time, there are days and weeks where the air is clear and sweet. There are hours of peace and contentment in the middle of a dark day. Mostly though, the fog is thick.
Sometimes I hear faint voices from the other side reminding me that there is another side. But my compass is broken, and I can’t find my way in the dark. I grasp what is left of the thin thread that keeps me attached to sanity. Is it strong enough? Will it break?
I am tired from standing in one place for so long. I feel the past, but not the future.
I remember being reminded by someone (who claimed to love me once) over and over that my problem was that I measured my life by my feelings, and lack of empirical evidence. The word “feeling” was used as a taunt.