It's the time between things. Not the action itself, though the discipline is for that, certainly, as well as the other. Practiced instinct. But even more time devoted to nothing. Nothing but the droning on of days. Waiting endlessly for a moment that your faith begins to falter in. Stories drown you out.

One way or the other they kill you. Slow, fast, one angle, the opposite. They get you. The only way to beat them, is not to join them. Well, to join them is one way. But not the best way, and contrary to popular belief, such a thing exists as quality.

You must have the necessary finesse. And, oh. You do. Take a moment outside and just ponder what you may be capable of.

I hope you felt it deep down in your gut flooding through you with ruthless power because if you didn't you need to stop reading and go back to the last sentence until you do.

I am getting distracted, you see how that works. Now you have some image of me as a powerful, riuthless thing and that may or may not be accurate. Because I'm not trying to talk about those times, those action moments, those yang.

I am trying to talk about yin. And the only goddamn way to do it is roundabout. So you just have to fucking put up with it already. You have to see it in peripheral. Come at it backwards and drunk on a Tuesday night. Fool yourself. You have to fool yourself.

How clever are you, anyway?

I am very clever. I fool myself constantly. I trick myself into a thousand things. And I rationalize them later. Or before. Or whenever it best suits my purpose, you see. THAT'S THE GAME.

I get so upset, so worked up, so fucking anxious, so terrified, so fucking FEARFUL all the time, every minute of the goddamn day how can I STAND MYSELF? Why can't I just trust myself?

This is the purpose of religion. The weak of heart use it as a crutch and the strong of heart see the truth in its inevitable lies and promote it for that truth. And the peace it brings. And they are right to do so. And they are right to do so. What does it matter to you anyway? I, mean, really?

Oh, the old story goes. Until its YOUR daughter, YOUR son, YOUR husband, YOUR sister, YOUR brother, YOUR mother, YOUR father, what do you care anyway? Glad its not hit you yet. Of course. Of course. Of course. Of course. Why this shame with that feeling? What could possibly be more natural than love? There is no shame in love, just love MORE.

We are all just the same.

All of us just the same.