Appetite
空 假 中. I have that middle character in mind – the truth of conventional reality. Inherent temporality forces an incessant dynamism; existence on a spectrum of never-now, only was and will be. That is, until it’s no more.
This movement through the phenomenal, what drives it? Is there a name for what underlies this relentless forward compulsion? It’s appetite.
Violent fusion in the heart of our star emitting light snatched out of the void by outstretched hands of green, roots slurping nutrients from the decay, feeding in turn the beating heart of prey before fang or knife tears it apart for the blood (life is in the blood), for the sweet proteins and carbohydrates that keep the synapses firing in this lump of sentient meat.
Breathe. Even your breath is ingestion of molecules that enliven, carrying energy ever forward in the ten directions for no real purpose at all.
Everything is hungry.
You eat, work, fuck, and sleep – all for what? It’s just your nature. You take from something that takes again in turn.
Life feeds on life feeds on life.