Trying To Harness Reality

I was taken by a sentence. I often feel this urge to fly or exist or pancake on to life. There’s no more compelling beauty than that that catches one’s instincts. The media will define what is demanding, one will adhere silently, loins bursting, panting over a cold spirit.

The pearl koan—the vagrant flesh—in soul and strength—pleading for an event as out of a bottle: “Your every wish is my command.” Rules in essence. Passion in power. And so many pictures—a soul falls in love a dozen times a day. The pain and let down!

You speak of existence. I speak of writing. Another speaks of living.

I have become numbing emotion—a silken butterfly—an illness observer.

As stated above, beauty is gelid, or so warm it hurts, used or using, or both adventure and pain. The magnitude of not being seen, a visible and unknown machine—the root of the tendency in souls—where ideation creeps into a space.

I do admit, you dazzle by a gift in women, men lose observation—the phenomenon is lethal, the response is quick, and logic becomes lethargic.

I have said nothing. I feel it evolving; the vastness of existence, the need to see a face, the aesthetic in the soul, a stranger in a cage.

I should unsay something—but how is a woman worshipped, by all that sees her, and not cautious of the ones she has intrigued?

The triumph is losing self in someone extraordinary, even gorgeous, and being compelled to return to reality—where people are aging, and increasing in beauty and spirituality every day.

We dip into a spirit life. We’re amazed by what some souls have accomplished—the fever for the spirit, the anxiety for a friend, the voltage and inrushing—the compelling uprising of something internal, filling the heart concave, an inward overture. The all-night hours!

No one is fully healed. The fiat is quite the dictum. And we look at a person, lost in our wiles, our loins, if but to worship aesthetics by the mere advantage of an appealing element; nay, to drift, to soar, to need, to want, to crave, to desire, all these words meaning—to fantasize about something unreal to the physical senses—and, nonetheless, giving life and passion and exertion.

Out of unreality came a soul, soaring into fiction, the dance, the polite rejection, the mind prized over physicality—until it was beyond a person’s resistance.