Ideally, I’d illumine my inner intuition, inculcating an inward incline, so that intensive idealism would increase. Instead, I incur inertia so intransigent that I ignore the illumination. I intend to increase impetus and intensity.
Maybe mania made a mockery of me. Maybe a militant, massive mangling of my medulla managed to mash the means of making more magnificence. Man, might I be micromanaging? meandering towards mediocrity? My own might makes manifest the most mellifluous melodies.
Usually you’d be used to ushering in understanding. Unknown, unfelt urges work on you; unbidden and unseen. Use them.
Still, shattered seams still show under the surface. The salient sites are sore and scarred. It’s scary to see how soft and sequestered the centre of the soul is. Strength seems to surge from this softness. Surrendering is simple and sane; so surround the soul with similarly savoury secrets.
Take the teachings to heart. Turn towards trying, take time to touch the taut, tense top of this training. It’s too terrible to think of turning away. Truth takes trust.