Intuition versus Attachment

In the furthest reaches of the arid terrain that makes up the modern heart, lies the ache for intimacy. Not the kind shared in touch, but the kind embroidering the mind. Where there is disconnect between the heard and the mind, the terrain dries up, leaving a bland taste behind.

Desperate times call for desperate measures, whether that manifests in surface level playfulness, or futile moments under the guise of connection. When we find ourselves stranded in that desert, our Fata Morgana paints it as our heart would desire it to be; her illusions are quite the creative deceit. If unaware of the fraying thread that ties our wounded inner child to our present pattern, none but the repeated cycles of karmic relapses prompt us to rewrite the narrative. Time knows no pace, lest it be leashed to such impermanent existence. Therefore, the relapses aren’t guaranteed to be finite, but rather dependant on our adaptability, our malleability. Growth cannot water our desert without our conscious consent.

Attachment folds us into a digestible energy, sieving out those thorned truths intertwined in the hearts furnace. Intuition, expands our very being, splaying out its strands of gentle shadows that play with curiosity. The former limits our experiences, the latter dissects each and every one of them, nurturing them, amplifying them. When our heart latches on to attachment without intuition, our terrain remains barren, with only but a few sprouts pushing their way through the cracks. The lack of rain to regenerate the lively forestry, exists as a consequence to our blindness; how are we to notice, let alone tend to, that fraying thread?