To become pieces of self may infuriate the soul. So much of knowledge encompasses feelings. And spirit vitiates such assertion. An immortal understanding, an immortal brain, to have so much understanding it causes alienation. (In loving, it wasn’t her, albeit, attractive, it was namaste. I
imagine where trepidation enters for some, others are bold, demanding, expectant. A side thought.) The inner resonant portal, an alluring magnet, if we need to know why some souls come together. So abandoned to ideals those times made perfect, that inscrutable word; amazed how it begins,
shocked to feel it maintain, at deeper seas. An inner space, majestic forests, galloping through cosmos, meant to endure immortality. Many walls those high-rise cliffs, to picture tablets, so many zealous for goodness. To become the whole self—too powerful for mortals, an end result, a
reaching for immortality; and, nonetheless, faced by portals, a lasting hour, cupping her palm. Maybe soon to return a son, a daughter, moving through atmosphere, upwelling into hearts—soul of spirit, being of faith, asking life its focus. So much debating flights, an upheaval at points, (such doubting), to feature by limitation: one fruit, one sky, eternal leaps, acute discourse.
