Aging In a Deeper Place

As I age the formerly wide chasm between ecstasy and despair grows narrower, deeper. I had not thought this an attribute of maturation, quite the contrary, but perhaps an aging crevice, a thinning fracture between played-out manic bliss, over-extended harvest, and depression nondually faces two extremes of positive major chords and keys with negative minor tensions searching for each other out and in, become too vocal, focal looking for tacit evidence apposition yet lives on another side of this darkening enlightening divide. Dr. Jeckyll's confluence redeeming Mr. Hyde's dissonance double-binding midway balance now become a treacherously tight rope tensioned for resonance and buoyant bounty, just short of snapping side against side. Perhaps wisdom is learning how to equitably co-invest in both wonder and shock, without becoming paralyzed in-between these boundless awes, deep wavering yes and please not yet, not yet, carving a gorge deep echoing sacred reverence and secular irrelevance, ecstasy with ridiculing despair, boundless sufficiency without endless satisfaction, reiterating eternal integrity not yet surely promised beyond potential disintegration. If solitude portends sublime co-operation, what remains for aching loneliness? Who and what could become redeemed through double-binding isolations within voiceless awe for wonder indwelling silent shock of ego loss deep shadowing eco-gain? To win to lose, to lose to win, co-arising deceptions again. Deeply resonant depressions; subliminal, suboptimizing ego dominations. Two delineations with hairline fracturing co-definition? What would be blissful contentment's promise without any dissonant content for comparison? What are omnipotent spirits without ego vacuuming materials, evidence of necessary, hopefully sufficient, deep double-binding awe that we, even I within we, have been something, someone, someone's, rather than the far more statistically likely nothing at all evermore.