Doubtful Steps Forward

I see differently now what I have been perceiving for a long time; I see with a certain distance and clarity, but more importantly: a lack of intent. I see my discomforts and short-comings, and though the question of change and action appears I have not the breath or strength to try and answer it. A voice within says the answer is close to it. The source is on the way of the return, it is deep in the past and far from the ten-thousand manifestations. All sense is singular in nature. There is only one way of things, and it is not easily found in storms of form and names. The path toward the way is through a dark doorway in the centre of the chest. The door leads to a great and dark space with maybe a few sparkling lights. In this place, what comes will come. I have been the rock, let me become water. This advice to self is not very practical, but I suppose it will manifest in the every day by, first and foremost, unnaming that which I love and that which causes my deepest discomforts. Does this mean I can't love anymore? For now... it may mean that I cannot. But love may come again. What am I left with if I have not love? Duty perhaps - responsibility - I have respect to pay and things to give. Love has asked me to give more than I have been able to give, so it is upon the back of something else that I must be moved to action. What is this force? Perhaps it is best not to name everything. I know what it feels like, and maybe that is enough.