Upon the needles of life I stitch my story into the fabric of the infinite. Understanding Master of Self has been churning heavy in the foundry of my being. What does it mean? How do I maintain consciousness for such a thing? It’s so easy to roll upon the sword of blame. I hear it everywhere. I see it and I feel it and my stomach begins to ache. Look at the self and begin to peel back the relevance of truth and by no small measure begin there to dismantle the framework of the Static Self. To encourage mastery without discipline is only to entertain mastery. I can reason now an understanding for poison and how it is swift to corrupt, but it is without it’s own understanding. It is not a thing that means to corrupt neither does it mean to be anything other than what it is inherently.
My mind is rooting into the heavy studies for which I have enlisted myself in this life. After great work through the fog of learning the clarity comes in slow but sure measure. Let me go now, then. Let these bones rust and let my soul rust, too. The long walk calls my name.