This week a limited icon promised their exit. If this is true then my position can grow. I do not have the sheer energy and power that I once did younger. But enough blood runs near my bones to work.
There is something monastic in my profession to both respect and disdain. What boy grows up wanting to teach? The diligent intensity of planning each week has its own value but the energy of living should not be given up so easily.
I have energy that I give to many hobbies that I see as a glorious waste of time.
I am happy to refocus my energy into less things as I near the end of my life. For the first time in a long time my attention flows with the words I write.
I open the door to my subconscious, move past the languid forms that disturbed me so three years ago. The infinite room does not have a door, but rather fades into nature, me with, a robed figure, floating gently the the fresh muddy paths of a forest.
I meet others who are here. They are surprised I found my way here without the necessary medicines that push us past the limits of our perception. I return to write, aware that I have ventured into a place that is beyond subconsciousness.
Read and be.
