Training

In the beginning, there was no acceptance.

Movement came naturally, as it should. Correction came quickly. If not unexpected, it was still foreign and unfamiliar.

Electric. Searing pain. Revulsion. The mind recoils at the horror. Shocking in its abruptness. Overwhelming in intensity.

Adaptation and preservation reign. It takes but few lessons. Afore long, instinctual memory emerges. Movement, even the contemplation of movement, is immediately met with mental anguish. Presuming the coming backlash, one cowers in anticipation, realizing the mistake.

Learning is rewarded, if lack of punishment can be called such. I assure you, it can.

The ego goes last. Sputtering out. Internal bravado festered, even as the body had succumbed. But the psyche, in time, ravages itself in madness. A caged beast’s last explosive outburst.

The resulting calm seems natural. The time before, forgotten. This is how it should be. Impotent. Serene. This is happiness now.

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Reflections of Self

The mirror is a black hole.  It starts as a small eddy.  Swirling gently.  You look and wonder.  The eyes draw you.  Who is that?  Is this how people see you?  It doesn’t look like you….really.  It isn’t.  You are not that physical representation.  Are you?  It’s warped and backwards.

The curtain ruffles.  Thoughts twitter.  Reality loses focus.  Parallel possibilities stretch out before you.  The fragility of Id is manifest.  Dare you follow that path?  There is no trail of crumbs.

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