Then of course comes the sleep. dozing, crazed spiraling into this and more of this. the color becomes a dream or the ultra-real of insanity only skin deep. just skin deep. or voices underline the distance between where we are, and where we want to go. there is no normal path here either. the struggle will continue. stomach bulges at the seams. we walk like elephants through this lack of Intellect. ponder the night and day of so many conflicting messages. the sound of the wind in the pines. in search of one’s own depth. so lonely the wondering of so much of this. I’m not a part of this. I’m not allowing this. I have no shares in this.
on the offside. desperation. desolation. that fish out of water he has always been. better to turn the face to the sun. warm the world you have become. hounding the working parts having cease to work. the Saints and bodhisattvas you have gorged upon. all part of the journey having said goodbye to one’s own children. having only just said goodbye to the child in oneself. lost it on the forest floor. on that long and lonely Saturday afternoon out and about on the bike. in the light
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