Kudos to anyone that gets that reference to that Bruce Johnston song that Barry Manilow made famous.
The pain just won’t go away. Outwardly, it’s more obvious, but inwardly, I feel I’m being nudged and pushed to dig down deep to let go of every pain I’ve suffered, every pain that’s cut my soul, every pain that just keeps echoing in a vast canyon, every pain that comes crawling out of the dirt like a ghoul or shambles like a zombie, no matter how much I try to bury them.
I have seen my own death. Take that any way you wish, as the context remains esoteric for now. Hopefully it will make much more sense when it actually happens. I know I’m no where near like Job, probably not even Joseph Smith, who wrote that the Lord told him “Thou art not yet as Job: thy friends do not contend against thee, neither charge thee with trangression, as they did Job.”
I just want to know that I have meaning, a place in this world, to know that I am connected to the universe– and it matters. I suppose I am an Indigo sort of man. Not an indigo child, but an Indigo Man.