Sight

There is a moment when things change. It is not sudden as much as it is like a dawning, a slow rising of the light. It creeps, inexorably, into the dark cracks of the world. My world. Fog lifts and things that were once obscured now come out of hiding. Clear and altered inside my awareness.
I now know more of how things were and are. Different than what I understood or told myself. Perhaps the details don't matter, because I would have chosen my own story anyway. Followed my own program of grief and longing and disillusionment.
I am always washed clean in these times on the sea. Beside it or on it. It wraps me up in it's rhythms. And now I know that here I am, and my path is what it is. To unfold as it will, separate from what I can imagine or predict. Different from what I might consciously conceive. Different from what appears in front of my mortal eyes.
Real sight lies underneath. In dark corners rarely exposed to the sun. In-sight. Is locked down under layers upon layers of un-peeling truth, each layer a newly shifted version of reality. Each more simple and less confused than the last.