Lines of soul
Piles of self strewn across the floor
What do they mean?
A gateway to passion and wisdom
But a false idol!
And from the feet of the false idol in supplication we draw the blood of sub-existence
This is self
Broken. Empty. Nothing.
Like a beautiful lie–the vehicle of truth.
Bliss and truth rest in the effulgent over-being of all-ness
You knew it all along:
The idol was a signpost pointing the way to nourishment
And instead you tried to drink its blood