It was late last night when he sat there quiet the longest one solo he'd ever done yet. He'd spread out his mat on the hard tiled floor and slid the bolt shut on his room's only door and said seven times the word Ong quietly there in his dark quarters where no one could see. For thirty-one minutes he kept his eyes closed where-after he duly and quickly arose and made himself forthwith all ready for bed with a heart devoid of need want fear or dread. The thoughts had kept coming while he'd meditated just before the end though they had slowly abated and left him a meat-sack containing a soul with Nothingness ringing in his singing-bowl. That bowl is the dome of the skull and within its small but smooth confines is where one begins to let go of worry and search for self-love while much rushing beauty comes down from above. One must first find anchor deep down in the guts in the second chakra is the holding-platz for soul essence spirit lest it should escape and leave one a mad and wild-eyed guttersnipe. So sit for a moment and let go of all dark thoughts that cause trembles bright ones that enthrall and know that the purpose of man in this life is not to make babies or get him a wife but to just sit silent in humble abode and reach without reaching for the Central Node.
© americanifesto / 場黑麥
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