Foolish Monk

Seems I’ve held this shape forever now, but that’s because I don’t really remember what forever was, just mainly what this shape is. I don’t mean shape as in body only, here.

Even the wind knows boundaries are to fly from & fly over. Change invokes a resounding chord, yet I pluck a single harp string. I am happier when change is gentle, making friends first before taking over completely.

Lately I don’t mind being led down the Garden Path. It gives me time to look around, a change from faithfully watching what my feet are going to land upon. It gives me time to smell the flowers.

While sauntering, I remember all the orders to “Sit up straight!”, “Feet on the floor!” & on. I’m not sure now’s the time to drag this out of the Pensieve to examine, but I’ve been off the mark before. My body has these favorite postures & always has. Lately it’s a longer time preparing to stand up than the act. It feels good & right to take it slow.

Heart is the ultimate Editor in Chief, sometimes her wheels grind very fine indeed.  

You must be honest with love to the point where no fabrications may occupy it. (Tho many haven’t wanted truth for a longish time.)

The cadence to which I marched set early & is now the cadence to which I am at rest.

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