With midnight creeping towards, I wat h for a moment, fantasies of us, filled and exhausted by the hot day's working. We move together into a somehow better than alone sleep cradle. They slide idly through the roll; a slow moving double scroll over-lit from behind. I think again about Plato's "Allegory of the Cave," as an earmark that refreshes the course of a path into the sun. I feel deepening roots, non-assumption, that curve around our conversation with simple exercise.
There continues a settling, my innards slow back into normal operating procedure, and five years of experimental chaos melt. Numbers and states become offerings, the most fulfilling come, just me and lightening, into the sweet field Desire has abandoned.
Somehow, I have the patience to listen, sifting, until the pertinent information contains shape. nOw I sit, wriggling inside the beyond pressure of hallucinogenic fear. More than half of the day's chores have been entertained, my chest resumes breath work, and I am no longer the creator of the seasons, trees, etc. Mostly. This time I swallow sugary pellets with remedies that sift guilt from me like leaves of tea through hot water. I can see a path opening. Excited, I think it is possible to hold on with a grip that might become a moment's satisfaction.
http://www.historyguide.org/intellect/allegory.html
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