The Heavy at the Bottom

Just like paint that hasn't been stirred in too long, I've felt myself separated.  I've felt the heavy things in me settled at the bottom, felt but not seen...while the clear, liquidy, translucent parts of me float at the top, sloshing around, moving freely, but without purpose.

Each layer of me a different color.  Each color, a purpose unfulfilled.  A reversal of the whole-greater-than-the-sum-of-it's-parts.

Tonight, things were stirred.  Tonight, for a brief spell, the heavy was mixed into the clear.

What is the clear?  I don't know.  This metaphor aches in me, but doesn't offer answers.  And I can't remember how it feels to be mixed into purpose.  I can't remember how to find the words to color my feelings into a picture.