I never (quite) understood instincts, with a need to tame such. I, too, never understood instant absorption. Some elements might be taken for granted; plus, we need not (over) analyze realities. I beg to differ, palming a book on psalms. More than a hobby; trying to decode mirrors, mine, others, found in script. And to adore beyond understanding, applying attributes to spirit-matter. Some are given vulnerability, others learn it. Everything one will love, all of each challenge. I never remembered that feeling, now it lives. Beyond comparison; made into emotion, of its own accord, to take a form, to give life through an illusion. (Such coldness, by warm ice, contagious vice, gloomy joys; accursed to have met, giving all, trauma based, all of what was delivered.) It was uneasiness, staring at an image, seeing traits, preordained to adore, challenged by majesty. A fever in a scratch, a dark light in its expression—those indecisive seconds, trying to reach, falling two palms short. To keep one going, to have done so much—alike to teaching a life lesson. (A lasting message where wisdom is unclear, mind of its mind, soul of its spirit.) Asking for graces. Disputing prudence. Asking for what cannot be absorbed. (Those with letters, writing postscripts, rereading transcripts.) Artisan souls, cavalier over last rites. And one dream!
