Kicked in the Cerebellum

If you had to chose between healing and holding a grudge, what would you chose? Oh, sorry I mean what DO you chose? Energy is a fat pill of paradox, with it’s own systems and rules of governance.

You can’t hold it but you can cultivate it. It, though, can hold you.

It lies between drill sergeant and choreography, between trophy and pallbearer.

If you take it as your enemy, you better enjoy getting your ass kicked.

To enjoy the problems in life is true freedom. I use the word “is” not as an absolute or a definition, rather as a weak and admittedly shortcome pointer. A line drawn on the window, placed over the frame of inexpressible reference. How can you dive if you are not willing to drink? I could drown in each word, watch as one concept expounds into a myriad, and I would be content to sit and watch the day fall drop by drop until all that remained was a sea-turned-puddle and a sky full of dreaming clouds. And all that I would have to say for myself would be an awkward grunt and a turn of face. It’s so funny to me that what I am is considered sick or dysfunctional by this society. A cause for medication.

But as I learn to cultivate what is talent and destroy (how destructive, the act of ignorance) what I, through synthetic authority and organic humility, deem as actual sickness, the more I see that misunderstanding originates in ignorance and is only carried into maliciousness by those who play part in the system. These are all things that have been said before, in better word and context than I could ever frame the thought.

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