Running away...
Make it impossible — dramatic in a crescendo of an unending end. Apocalyptic in proportions without a magnitude that can’t be measured.
Thus, the scenario unfolds shy of the disaster it had imagined, enveloped in a safety net, unbothered by the fear it can create.
Mastery lives in those moments, either in clashing against egos resisting to be Egos or dancing in unapologetic humbleness that render the monks prostitutes in the heart of an unforgiving mind.
So much so, running away always feels right. It always holds the chest tight in calling for a future secured in an impossible possibility, always fleeting in the face of its redemption.
An instant passes, demanding its presence to recognize its essence, and yet it can’t be but a sacred delusion housed in a falling rage on the edge of clashing with its destiny.
The moment is right. The sense is invigorated in the scent of a sweet, pungent repellent that wants and needs to be not wanted or needed, yet claimed.
May it be such, in the moment tight, in the heart held, in the apocalypse, dead to not be a runner but a constant running away contender that is never finished and always done.
Amen seems righteous, and maybe it is.
So… amen, it will be… running away.
Until the next ❤️ beat ~.~.~
Hi Carlo, Kierkegaard called it “fear and trembling” — but something new is definitely emerging.
Sorry - my message accidentally sent before I could say..LOVE that line. And here is an honest question: would you say you are writing prose, poetry, or “proetry”? And it doesn’t really matter of course - very much enjoyed and can wash over me in a non-verbal understanding.