To be a silent ripple in a pond,
to be lifted as a falcon by the wind.
To disturb no creature,
to walk without footprints.
This is perfection.
In truth, you like the pain. You like it because you believe you deserve it, and the fact that you’re putting yourself through pain means you are doing what you, by all rights, ought to do. You’re doing something right. Your ability to withstand pain is your claim to fame. It is ascetic, holy. It is self-control.
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