Finding sensation in an unfeeling body. A little bit of hostility in these livingquarters closes off my Weltanschauung. It’s not mine to incorporate; my brain plainly won’t let me feel. This melodic malady is hollowsweet, will be mist. Practice. I think that all of life is about protecting the heart. Fears of rejection—won’t stand, can’t stand myself. It feels like I was made in random, like timeless paralysis itself. It doesn’t ask what I stepped into. And I excite to extricate myself again. At whatever pace, my will be done. These are religious moments, thank G-d.