There’s an inch. Under the skin. Deep. Primal. Consequences, meaningless. Urges sweat out details. Impulses. Erratic behaviors, the real spice of life.
Harum-scarum. I never knew my own name. I knew my calling card. I knew my path. It burnt on path with two edges. The heart knows why the mind runs slow. Caution is brakes on lightenment. Taste of fruit left on the vine is far too tempting.
My mind finds its query. Thought is the enemy of desire. Reactions quick and decisive. Even in flames. The attitude feeds the fragmented soul. My ever present friend helps me out from the inside.