We are prompted and plundered, driven and drawn, separated and linked, by opposing gestures in evolution’s call. Each step in duality’s consent is a rung of ascension although non-directional, non-linear, much like the frame-shift from a flashlight’s sight to a flash flood’s fury. The humility of comprehension necessary for advancement gestures towards oneness. Pronouncement in this regard, echoes up from within the inner canyons of our beings. Each of us as spirit of self, is crouched and has readied ourself to spring into the light of our life form. We are loaded and primed, prepared to explode into the essence of our being, coming home. Yet from outside the domains of our capacities to notice, personal trauma has engaged us in a blindspot kind of clandestine, deviant, energy drain ongoingness. It is immensely obtuse and enormously barren to straightforward views. It is quizzical to the stare-back from the obviousness of life, yet we are given an occasional looking glass view. When this is privately so, there is a presence of a soft but radical inscrutable alarm. The discovery is that there is an unaccounted for keel on the belly-side of life. It doesn’t respond to control, might, justice or to reason. It seem to make life an endless circling without the spiraling that elevates towards much of anything gained or revealed. Yes there are slops and sloshes and blurps and apparent spillages across dimensions from within and around. There are white-hots and sedations opposing in inner dance. There are saddles of separateness and destinations of togetherness in the cross hairs and by the cross weaves that life has to offer. Life is a practical joke for finding all the ways to keep the trauma laughing, to keep the dualities in your sight, and joyous tears in your eyes that stare into the coming ascension beyond the mask of form or fear. For each rung up is the seed-essence expressing our spirit. The new wonders yet to bountifully but uncontrollably unfold, as if by unbridled ascension, storming the pitfalls and the placidity of our otherwise normative lives . . .