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What is happening to me is that I have become old in a young-type body.
My body has always been on the inevitable journey, not to picturesque
dust, but rather to crepitance and decay, calcification and claudication
and the deposition of creamy yellow plaque that may kill my heart or my mind.
I still wonder who I am, wihtout the mind that has allowed me to interact
with time and space. 

Which is more important: the lesser dimensions of which we know dearly,
 or the greater dimensions that perhaps we walk in, even now,
 without an awareness of the import?

My heart is being transformed, once again.  But when I say "heart" I don't mean the part of me that has four chambers and polices the blood that is apportioned to my various parts (not a lonely hunter, but rather a generous barmaid).  Neither do I mean that concious melding of my visceral emotions to my visceral mind.  The me that my heart desires to know, is not the me that is also "I."

If the function of my synapses is merely the result of frighteningly complex interactions of my chemical makeup with the outside world, I'm screwed.  My free choice then is merely a sham that has been potentiated my a certain genetic pre-disposition to wishful thinking.  The fulfillment of my walk through the conventional dimensions came when I began to take my birthright and shatter it with the world.  My environment has shaped me, and it has made me less glorious, even if I have become more wise.  The me that is "I" is a phyisical beast, subject to the laws of nature, powerless to touch even one human heart outside of myself.  This "I" that I live with everyday is fundamentally selfish and alone.  

Inside of me there must be something unpredictable.  This part of myself eludes the fine enzymes that have been evolved into my being, and surpasses them.  I call it my "spirit" and hope for it's eternal salvation, but I don't feel like I understand it very well.  Unlike some, I don't conceive of heaven as just another place where I'll be me.  I think that all the gifts I have been given will be stripped away, and I will be speechless, sightless, thoughtless.   All that will be left are my fears and my ecstasy, a stern and eternal version of me that understands my True Name.  As humanity has advanced into the age of technology, we no longer entrust our soul into inanimate objects outside of ourselves.  Instead, we lock our soul away, and rarely let it's irrational power take control and guide us into saving acts.

Choices are powerful.  We don't make them often.  Some people never make a real choice at all, instead chosing to stick with what is comfortable, the built-in mechanisms of genes and environment.  These twin forces are often sufficient for the simple choices in life.  And yet I want to make real choices as often as I can, to use the silent parts of me to shift my destiny into something that more powerfully reflects the design of my soul.  Is this possible?  Can I send my naked soul forth and hope to touch even one other human heart?  Can the me that is myself trouble the me that is "I?"  How can I engage the world, instead of merely waft along with the currents of chance?