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It seems that a spring brings forth precious water from the depths in a never ending supply.
My heart, my life, my being seems to be ever opening up. Nothing outside seems to change much.
The congestion I am feeling this bitter cold dark winter, symptoms of catarrh, mucous seem to be the clutter of the past. This is the physical grunge of accumulated patterns and outlived modes and sequences of thought which shaped my perceived reality. Now even a slight constipation then a release in the offing, could not stop the spring or cap it, for the springs pressure blows off the plug and there is a gentle flow just before the possibility of an almighty volcanic eruption and the fear of tearing asunder my known world which represents my security which is holding the process back, which could be my demise, yet it must be so.
What does it matter if this mortal coil, this vessel of flesh finishes its destined journey, for it is only transporting me, the essence of my being to somewhere else where the spring has its source.
SHACK
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