No restraint.

If you could see the world I see maybe you would not keep looking over the fence, or to the past or the future? There is no goal to reach. Nothing to hope towards. No barrier to breach. The past you recall isn't the past as it occurred. The past was a former present. There is only ever now. When I look around me I only ever see now. The steam rising off the cup of peppermint tea, which mashes now and chills now. The tag - thoroughly minted - hangs down and will remain that way: only slowly decomposing to the atoms it is structured up from. Which in turn are only ever a moment visible as solidity: moving relentlessly. Apparently stable, but actually nothing of the sort. Impermanence. Movement. Energy flowing ceaseless. And I'm the same. My whole outer surface is utterly an illusion. But I've lost control of it by accepting myself as a limited being. Truth is we're eternal and infinite: bottled up thoughtlessly. I've reduced my being to receding hairline and rotten teeth; grey hairs and loss of hearing; finite and insane. To be is to be infinite and sane. Irrational is becoming. Rationality is restrained and wilting. To rationalize is to put limits where none are known in existence; most not least; forever never ending. A body denies The Truth. Always requiring input to maintain an illusion. Whether oxygen, coffee, aminos, probiotics, visual stimuli. I am artificial and unnatural. Made up of limited stuff. Out of everything I've become something, which is eventually reduced to nothing. Why choose this? Free will is a choice I forfeit to be limited and inadequate. To be limited; I am sad! Most definitely mad: beyond despair! I see no real gain just an insufferable chain of confusion. Over and over. Repeatedly, until out goes the visible light. Is the sun so limited as I perceive me? Yet surely I am of the sun, stars, universe and creation. Now I feel déjà vu as I sit here pondering a cup of peppermint tea and waking up on a lost way. This is such an unreal engagement: as I scratch the balding spot and watch the motes of my degradation drift into the sun's rays; atrophic: do I corrode back from the dust blown body I'm pretending to perform in?