How
to generate such energy: by force; by divinity; by illness; or by all the
above? I share a deep secret: We must examine it through reference points.
I’m
lost to find it, reading into forces, at woes to ponder her essence; this treasure-taboo, feared as envied—this shadow of
receptors; to peak by virtue, this spiritual field, as to experience Logos. We become Love, while to perish as souls, as
neurons spark biochemicals—seeping through Serotonin, this psychosomatic, as
arranged through cellular responses: this rivaled secret; as explaining in parts—molecular activity. I speak for you, Love; something so cold, as
so popular—spreading through psycho-spirits, raging through spirit-air pumps,
as seated in this deep affliction; to find us shifting, wailing out, Namaste, as to center neurotransmitters;
this drained countenance, forever at heights, this heist through meditations; as
to eclipse our souls, this neural epitome, seeping into membranes—as some for
nervous, while others flow lights, this psychoactive generator—as captured
within, our minds producing chemicals, as to become attuned. I speak for you,
Love; as wires fracture, this need for sources, as too, psychoactive; this
outer chemical, meshing with inner chemicals, as to offset psychotic features;
as coupled religiosity, those features
aflame realities, in need of
antipsychotics; this raging ego, distorting receptors, as to produce a private
reality…but what for notions, a series of experiences,
where said experiences affect
perception; notwithstanding, location, our minds are altered, where a disrupted
ego lays claim to realities: one must
retreat, while subject to cells, where explanations lose substance: this
embedded pleat, this shapeless reality, where souls come together; to voice
with silence, those inner mechanics, compounded by neuronic pistons: that
violent firing; that vestige of Spirit, this tiny flame offending psychs; as
often extinguished, as never quenched—this spiritual warfare. I speak for you,
Love; as roaming wilderness, to touch on mania:
this force of moods; this explosive energy; this grandiose expression—as
more euphoric, hampered by antipsychotics, where another sphere reveals itself;
this place of silence, akin to sages, this shaman mentality; to seek for
clarity, as sitting in stillness, this countenance aglow; to see for nuances, flitting through dominions,
where factors give ecstatic expression; hereby, motor skills are rapid, moods
begin to shift, as there’s this need to observe activities. I speak for you, Love; this must to understand, especially, where others are prone to
demonize energies; to want that feeling, as reading into fear, where precedence
is given to ostracism. We must examine, while avoiding heresy, if we are to
rationalize our fears; else, to perish, this unlucky lot, at parts riven.
