There are secrets within me. Because I am aware, I try and unravel them. I try and unravel me, I try and unravel the world, I try and unravel people. The elusiveness of secrets fascinates me. I want to know more. I want to know everything.
But my mind alone can not will everything into reality. My mind can not engage with these secrets. No, it is not enough, it never was, it never will be. My mind is the most useless tool in this regard.
For these secrets need all of me. In effect, they need the parts most sacred to me. The sacred ones are the most sensitive ones, yet they're not strong enough.
And the only way of strengthening is an absolute complete shattering. The most sensitive must be thrown into all the turmoil there is out in this universe. Only then perhaps will the secrets become remotely familiar.
But my mind alone can not will everything into reality. My mind can not engage with these secrets. No, it is not enough, it never was, it never will be. My mind is the most useless tool in this regard.
For these secrets need all of me. In effect, they need the parts most sacred to me. The sacred ones are the most sensitive ones, yet they're not strong enough.
And the only way of strengthening is an absolute complete shattering. The most sensitive must be thrown into all the turmoil there is out in this universe. Only then perhaps will the secrets become remotely familiar.
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