No Pain, no can do

No amount of pain has the sustainability to remain in the long run, unless allowed to test the fortitude of the one wallowing in it, with lying eyes that rain due to its original intention to stay there and dwell in it and bare all, psychologically.  No amount of pain deserves characters nor hearts to attach to, whether deserved or knot.  No sidekicks, no cling-ons, pain and suffering can take a hike from latching onto we.  Empathy’s heart wears a shield when need be, casting clowns that tend to pack and overcrowd vessels, bringing attention to their attempts to put on their own show, overtaking vessels and driving them to emotional entanglements and recent developments.  No amount of pain is worth its weight, removing light as a feather, but deep as an ocean, the heart of matter, contained, bruised, or loved by inner and outer influences, that leave no amount of pain.

Mental matter lassoing emotions to hold down spiritual endeavors from awakening its crown, while keeping the vessel contained within their own thoughts and actions, of churning up and holding down feelings that never asked to be contained in the first place, making a mess of your inner space by infighting and the continual in-breeding of character developments within the confines of minds…

My Immortal, always trying to come to stay, not for fleeting moments of reflection but always pushed away and let go to be by themselves, un-wholly messes all screwed up from earthly tribulations and emotional possessions that grab and hold onto the Divines’ rite to stand at your higher side, ejecting the copilot and running on autopilot, what body and structures think that they command, until brought to their knees from years of corrupted build-ups.  Captains, chartering previously uncharted courses without maps or directions, just inflictions.

Minus the cohabitations from those fallen below, spirit endeavors to catch the swells turning into waves breaking on somes’ unanswered shores that left theirs long ago, forgetting what they originally swam through the abyss to come ashore for in the first place, ignoring the child inside that still seeks a hug and a blanket to feel warm inside, when receiving a warm blanket from anothers’ giving heart…

Striking it out on their own, and leaving their crowning achievements growing up that brought them this far behind, the children think themselves mature enough, but continue to play childish games never desired or entertained in the past, of a kids’ mind.  The kind not struggling to hold onto concepts and beliefs, simply the wonder of it all and taking it in until the cows come home to roost and crow within the dawn that’s already lit, and extinguishing it as we go along, con-vincing our Sol to play humanely…in this arena.

What it takes, is to make it is less than you thinking “if” you can, or knot up insides to unwind what it takes to break up containment of currents making what it takes into conditions that link chains rather than break them. Breaking thought patterns of what if’s, into patience waiting, on a love worth waiting for, and taking the everlasting feeling for a ride of what it makes us into, along the roads we’re taking and holding onto, making what it takes to let go and improve upon the composure of the patients in mental wards and life stations of procedural operations of the what’s that keep containing them, recycled as emotional developments that keep on giving until demanding their stoppage and conditionings.

What does it give to make it…worth loving and fighting for, when that’s all you have to take with you, to take what it makes one into, an everlasting lover making out, and never tyre of kissing the full embrace of a Being in the moment, feeling gentle lips of the conjoining, and taking over feelings to become each other’s breath. A moment, a place, an embrace worth all one may muster the only matter worth holding onto, tightly, but ever-so-gently the moment contains the fancy, fantasy, and firmament to make a whole, new world, all outside the moment stripped of egotistical maniacs in the foreplay of simply Being, not thinking…

when seeking for W’s, start outside the box, not contained within it looking for escape, but from afar observing into the totality of it, then breaking it down to its previous alpha’s, and inhabits before the questions. Use both hands, one to hold the jar, and one to remove the lid opposingly. Should lids not budge, break the containerments. If its knowledge was held there before, the pieces will replicate themselves under the rite conditions, ever-so-gently picking up the broken, double-edged pieces appearing as a mess to clean up for some, vase stones to pickup the light in prism to others, patients in the waiting room solving puzzles left in torn and broken boxes listening for further developments, while putting pieces of puzzles together and our minds off the inpatients’ intensive care. Supporting and loving recovery is a battle discovering it’s at odds with itself and conditions, not beyond to recovery. Loving recovering, from battles, scars, wars, and cheap shots, rediscovers yourSelf, naked exposures, and complete surrender takes to the making out embracing its very essence for it’s commitment to a long lasting union neverending its unfoldment or climaxing its lastings…souls caring what it takes to make it, inhale the exhales, and feel the sweat it takes to build up bodies into spiritual awakenings consemating what it takes to put matter and feelings together, harmonizing inner Sol to use it’s force for greater purpose and development, of all in unison with nothing lacking or to desire, caught up in the heat of the body, mind, and feelings seizing the momentums allowance to breathe in all that’s left out of a moment of becoming the other, no longer just another piece, of just another puzzle, but all that is worth starting from or striving to end up with, what it takes to make it…




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