When I die, let the wolves enjoy my bones
When I die, let me go
The trouble with fucking off to isolation with a tool box of talent and a cold ham sandwich to do a thing is the outside world vehemently carries on their merry blind way of existential routines and its own sense of progress and purpose with seemingly reckless urgency, chasing elusive vibrations of acceptance and inclusion.
When I die, you can push me out to sea
When I die, set me free
The die hards, constantly pushing the envelope to master a skill, will inevitably become the thing they sought to accomplish, only to resurface in the community of life to find no one giving a shit; community can sense imposter energy. Cemeteries are filled with unmarked graves of those who put in work in the name of internal healing.
What did we expect from a society of sheep? To be celebrated with the same vigor and vitality that brought us into this world? Wouldn’t that be nice. Discovery is a light for mankind; what mankind chooses to do with discovery, is the only prominence that separates man from other life forms.
When I die, let the sharks come around to feed
When I die, set me free
Shadow work, finding one’s truth under the adapted bullshit to survive, is not community work and it’s not for sissies of the cowardly, but it is the most significant achievement one will celebrate in a lifetime of false victories of chasing status and identity.
We briefly celebrate the birth of human life and the magic of arrival within a host community, but later find disappointment in a lifetime of angering rejection in society. Society is conditions put on human life; community is acceptance of human life. Society suffocates and destroys; community nurtures and builds.
When I die, let the flames devour me
When I die, set me free
A blatant lack of, or disregard for the life-sustaining force of community will expedite journeys into unhealthy and subsequent unknowing toxic isolation, under the guise of independence, creative authenticity, and free will while not-self settles into a warm state of accomplishment by the campfire of external false acceptance.
Evolution of self does not occur in a vacuum. Only death occurs in a vacuum. When we isolate, we go in to kill. Evolution cannot exist without death; growth cannot occur until we kill the old parts we discovered in isolation. Humans have free will to kill any and everything in the world of existence, but we refuse to kill the identity we worked all our false lives to achieve.
We turn inward and the body maintains a constant state of vigilance in the name of survival and to the outside world, looks a lot like narcissism of the destructive kind; one day we look up and find community has abandoned our existence, carrying on the path of least resistance. We became too much for others and society is a fickle, shallow beast of constantly changing the rules to suit itself. The self-licking ice cream cone.
When I die, throw my ashes to the breeze
When I die, scatter me
Only after we kill the parts of us that stunt growth, repulse loved ones, and damage friendships can we move into nothingness, sans identity or status. Becoming nothing allows capacity to receive; accepting ourselves as the bringer of light we are.
The phenom society doesn’t want us to know is by becoming nothing, shedding our hatred for life and all expectations of what it should be, our capacity to grow increases infinitely and morphs into a superpower of continued discovery, inclusion, and acceptance. We become our own superpower of grace and gain eternal compassion for human life. Our own existence.
When the years have torn me apart
Let me be
Let go or be dragged.
Stringer
Song lyrics: “Wolves” by Down Like Silver