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My eyes, at the foot of the great mountain, shot an arrow into the heights where its peaks disappear. And longed to climb them. Unencumbered by the heaviness, not yet, I began the march upward, and the distance – made small by my young perception, appeared tame and docile.

The blazing sun, wearing skin and character down, never leaves its zenith, never sets. No clouds can obscure it, no impurities can spoil it. Relentless good in sincerity and magnitude. But I am only a glass, striving to contain an ocean. As much as a drop causes bliss, maniacal love.

That blessing cannot be contained, like a sizzling current of energy, a venomous serpent of knowledge, it strikes, biting my neck.

Good times killed the wolf, now an innkeeper’s dog, well fed, calm, old grey hair, eyes good and weak, no desire to stand on my feet.

In time I got to know the innkeeper. I learned the human tongue. I conversed with him. I said, I don’t want to be a dog, not anymore, why don’t you let me go? A wolf again, give me freedom. My soul is fattened, I need not eat for another hundred years.

And You agreed.