When something in your bones reaches out to swell, to fill the scene in front of you, you know you're somewhere special.
A rise to the occasion, a step on a new path, as sure-footed as the old.
A plan in mind whose pieces all fall into order from the corner of your eye, who entangle in webbed knots when it becomes your focus.
How to stay in such places, if they're meant to be filled? Or are they merely the airports of hotels, a global halfway home that only ships their wards off onto the great new thing, forever a destination with no depth, no dimension, a flat line of a checkpoint for no purchase nor landing?
Are they mere flights of a moths' wings, impossible to pin down, without destroying their essence?
Is it to live in the moment, to forgo ownership of such sensations, or to be always bounding to the next one, spiritually homeless yet forever at home?
How to seek such a fortitude of self, that builds up neither from beneath nor beyond? Wind is no captain alone, yet too firm of sails will lacquer the lesson in ancient rime of unknowing, unchanging.
With such infirm senses, must we be species of balance?
A rise to the occasion, a step on a new path, as sure-footed as the old.
A plan in mind whose pieces all fall into order from the corner of your eye, who entangle in webbed knots when it becomes your focus.
How to stay in such places, if they're meant to be filled? Or are they merely the airports of hotels, a global halfway home that only ships their wards off onto the great new thing, forever a destination with no depth, no dimension, a flat line of a checkpoint for no purchase nor landing?
Are they mere flights of a moths' wings, impossible to pin down, without destroying their essence?
Is it to live in the moment, to forgo ownership of such sensations, or to be always bounding to the next one, spiritually homeless yet forever at home?
How to seek such a fortitude of self, that builds up neither from beneath nor beyond? Wind is no captain alone, yet too firm of sails will lacquer the lesson in ancient rime of unknowing, unchanging.
With such infirm senses, must we be species of balance?
does that line up with how you originally read it, or something different?