The extremes of Euphoria
Will inevitably lead to Dysphoria,
For it is a feeling reserved for a few.
A pinnacle that is sought by many,
But has a place only for Nobody.
Such is the purpose of feeling, it’s True.
By the base of these stacked feelings,
Remain those who find this Truth
Difficult to bear.
Looking to Euphoria through fantasy,
They all circle it in misery,
Whipped by Him who resides under Nobody.
Wisdom comes to those who bear that whip well,
Waking in their tracks to seek the Whipper,
For He who sits under Euphoria and Nobody,
Must be sitting above Dysphoria and Everybody.
And so,
Circumference to centre, a new feeling begins.
A feeling to find what one got for sought,
A feeling of purpose that resides in Truth.
To arrive at the centre is to leave the extreme,
Under that pinnacle forming the Line of Truth,
One Witnesses the Feeling of All Magnitude,
In pleasure nor pain One cries in faithful confusion,
Able to offer nothing but a clear Tear of Truth.
A transaction of logic beyond all feeling occurs.
For above lies Nothing, and below lies Everybody.
If He is Everything, hence One becomes Nobody.
The Hand that whipped now bears One’s weight,
To lift above Himself into that reserved place,
Upon steady and gentle balance that seeks Nothing,
One finally finds their place amongst those few.
Such is the purpose of Euphoria, it’s True.