From Rest

Sometimes I am tempted to fashion of my life something hard. Something precise and perpetually potent. I dream of plunging into a fire of hardship, there to shed my current, softer form
For purpose

But then I remember that a softer life is the goal. To be porous and miraculously malleable. I think of the river of time flowing through me like a sieve, making its gentle way towards the watershed
Of breath

Sometimes I am tempted to throw myself on the anvil of change. A place of growth and constant configuration. But then, I take stock of the pink-orange perspective, an evening of the heart, and draw courage
From rest

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