Rise | courage, dear
let it not be misguided.
You stand at the cusp of sky and sea: at the brink of the very thing which made you…you. The love, the love, the love! Tis not gone, but you must stoke it with a rod of iron for it to rise: up and up and up will it grow! And ay, tis a cold and sharp thing: if you do not have the courage to cast away the wounds and push up and out from the waves, who else would?
But dear, you must hurry. Hurry before that demon of hunger devours itself and sets your mind into a perpetual dark, for the unfed mind devours itself and sinks under the very ballest-stones which were meant to carry it across the waves. I cannot hold you back for any longer, but a seed has been planted within : I see it with my own eyes — and then shall come that profound crystallisation — it will come, my dear, I believe it and so you must be brave! Only have the courage and the grit to nurture it — to cradle it tight against your beating heart when distraction and desire swirl all around — let it not be misguided. Lest you forget such words, which flow from your own hallowed hand!
There is nothing more to say.
— bona fide
