A soul has an ache, an incurable dilemma. We call it Condition. The soul still soars, made fearless. Those stars shine, they tell a story. In examining the existential, a soul stands resilient, arguing each premise; such otiose pleasures, made temporary, such measure in a phantom. Secerning begins to unveil life; discerning winter, celebrating summer, examining autumn. Certain beautiful rain, to feel thunder; sweet enlightenment. To have noticed an inner sound, looking into a dim room, to suddenly know existence. Loving when it’s impossible; anguished in the midst of joy; mended and set free to wolves. The courage of tigers, 7 lions, and 5 meerkats. We sense a tale, as departing from tradition, with everything to tell; much outstanding malaise—coupled with happiness, a sort of sullen bliss; such mixture with waves, an undercurrent of untraditional improvisation; in adoring texture, to dispute observation, filled with lightning, whet to understand by flicker, by flame. We notice in midst of sorrow comes a visitor: Lord blesses alertness, wandering as souls, entering the temple, seeing with open spirit—those eyes have poured out in pneuma. The excellence of many years, aging towards closure. By existence gives entrance into Condition: if to master waves, to envelope chi, still with sweet tyranny.
