Intensity is not Intimacy

One may become a byproduct of the other, but their foundations are birthed in duality, not sameness.

A wild flame enveloping a woodland in heat and vigour, may easily be compared to an ocean wrapping its weight around the darkness that prowls beneath; parallels as such rarely find themselves meeting in homeostasis, but rather in opposing duality. For one boasts intensity, one embodies intimacy.

Alike the woodland set alight, a heart may be struck, though often, if not tended to, only its ashes remain. Alike the buried life that dances in the oceans embrace, a heart may be cloaked in midnight silk, and in that, offered space to melt into safety.

Depth remains more scarce than intensity, for the latter burns in its thrall, building in pace, whereas the former requires malleability, curiosity, patience. Sinking into the dark caress of the abyssal heart takes courage; a rare quality at present. A concept often confused with distorted bravery, with loud presence. Rising up in flames begs for futile performance; for why else does the ego feed on self sabotage, if not to stay comfortable in what’s familiar, easy? Surrendering to a free-fall into the unknown, may prove to be the only avenue guaranteeing a raw outlook on all that lingers in the quietude within.

The solace found in melting amour that shields the very furnace that forges life, compares to none. In the act of yielding to truth, to gentleness, a seed is planted; the fruit bared, witnessed only by those anchored in patience.