The willing joy of suffering;
the confirmation of existence through pain,
that declares “I struggle, I suffer, therefore I am.”
is the fearful thorny purchase,
of a bird who forgets its wings,
who would cling onto apparent certainty:
the apparent solidity of pain,
as the sole coordinates that locates its existence
rather than,
let go of the past’s reference point,
kiss goodbye to all dimensions,
without stimulus: no periphery,
without form: no identity:
O forgetful heart-bird, remember who you are!
Spread your wings, and become the sky.