Unblinkingness
Unblinkingness. This, preferred posture. This, horizonless stare into the Real. I think of how a mere drop on my mouth could burn my body slow from its deep black core to my broken-out, bright skin. I am terrified of Truth, the kindling spark inside, because I don't want to know my fate. I suspect I'm essentially worthless; it's comfortable for average psychological reasons (and easily justified in broad, underscrutinized spiritual terms). What are the chances that Truth settles this ambiguity against me? What would it mean to know you cannot do the things you want? The only things you thought could make you feel whole. Or desperately: the only things left. Could you, in Unblinkingness, truly gaze into that space of settled possibilities & take refuge in Truth? No. Remind me there is still some chance I am a good boy with a good heart. Endlessly defer the determination.