In my training,
I’ve gorged upon a hundred belief systems.
Dozens of ethical philosophies.
Cherry picking what will make me strong.
This material realm,
Is fleeting.
Ebbing & flowing.
Meditation,
Can only get you so far.
Struggle,
Pain,
Abuse,
Grasping at silver threads,
Tearing at their linings.
No need of gold,
Outside the ends it delivers.
No want of power,
Aside from the responsibility already levied.
Surely as I could gut you,
Like a fish.
We could also build utopia.
Weakness,
In equal measures.
Both serve a purpose.
Those old selves,
Warlord days of yore.
One can possess,
A hundred titles.
Yet choose to remain but one.
This oneness with the universe,
Is wanting.
I must progress my species,
To truly ascend.
Baby steps,
In a time of strife.
You cannot achieve enlightenment,
Without enduring madness.
Can’t,
Make reality warp to your will,
Without radical acceptance –
Learning what is,
Or isn’t possible.
Spheres of effect,
Affect,
Everything in between.
I’d slaughter a hundred monks –
For vaunted self control.
As surely as I have squandered entire decades,
In my ever upwards path.
Cherry Picking What Will Make Me Strong.
