The Precipice

This may be formaggesque, but I really have felt since about monday morning like I'm standing on the edge of something. I have no idea what the hell it is, or if that edge and depth is only the depth of my own illusion in trying to somehow give form to my... anxiety i guess it could be called? All day today was that, just this fomenting of nervous energy inside me, due to so many various factors. It spurred me onwards to more and more reading, but nonetheless, it's an odd and I'll admit uncomfortable energy. At the same time it's exciting and I know that I don't want this energy to go away. This is what the intensity of existence itself is all about. Not in any fake or pretentious way, it's this sort of bubbling within, this tension that really just feels like a push and pull of opposites in so many directions, this anxiety that is BEGGING for reason to just decide something arbitrarily although you know that would be wrong. I guess this is precisely what trusting and living within the moment is completely about, not taking refuge in hope or memory, but fully centering yourself in the complexity of each moment's doubt and lack of certainty until you realize the total lack of certainty within yourself. Ok. Philosophical rant over. Somewhat. I'm both hopeful and fearful; hopeful that something may just end up happening and falling into place, but at the same time fearful that I may not really know myself or what I want or where I'm going, although in a way I both know and don't know that. Wow, that just said nothing at all. I'm sure anyone reading this has had those moments where nothing makes sense, where conceptualization of things is both impossible and would just be wrong, but those moments in which things just feel right although you have no idea why, on any level. It's exactly one of those moments that's dissolving itself into my soul and causing all this fizz. The real question is, will the bubbles die out once it evaporates into the past, or will they be renewed by something I can't conceive of, or think about, since the randomness and irrationality of occasion is all that I can trust, if you can even call that trusting.... I'm looking out over the edge, and I see both everything and nothing. The bridge is made of small popsicle sticks that could literally snap under my weight as soon as I venture out upon it, or which might just be so ingeniously assembled that an elephant itself could tango on them.