No, not yet, move nothing until
you have filled yourself with
your act will freeze, immutable, and
your thought will have aborted
into misshapen stumbling.
We stammer in the effort to speak, lurch
out of a passion to walk, slump
in lieu of sitting; yet,
within, awareness reaches toward
an attainable state in which
we seek to direct our selves
as a rider guides the most accomplished of
horses, crupper gathering, hooves
pattering, neck yearning toward
heaven, and the supple trunk
conveys itself over the earth without
anticipation or effort.
This is the ascent into the self,
encountering possibility just as it
flowers into the actual.
We attain fulfillment only if we carry
the breath of the world
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