When you say that I failed,
you tell me only
that you have missed the point entirely.
Look at me.
Why else would I spin in circles in the pouring rain, carrying that log on my shoulders? It is to learn to fall. I derive pleasure from it. I have repeated that heavy mantra for far too long. Undisturbed by reason, now, incapable of grasping basic truths, I have achieved what you long for.
I no longer play the game. Its rules constrain me. Ten million rebirths. To grow up, again. To sire an ego, again. To grow old and wither, again, ever afraid of death. Not for me.
Now, let me be a walking contradiction. I spin like a whipping top, thrown off balance. That is where truth must lie, it has to.
And, if not, I will have to wake up yet again. A life here and now, or someplace else. Maybe later. Perhaps tomorrow. I am not ready. So, when are we leaving? I thought that we were staying.
False beliefs are my mother and father. Perseverance is my brother. Hope is my only child.
I have no children.