The Place of Decay
Thread so finely spun that it will break against your tongue.
The layers of deception are so thick, and yet woven so spiderweb fine, that we won't get anywhere by carefully unwinding them. We could do that forever. We are going to have to tear this fabric. It won't be graceful. You won't like the expression on my face as I do it (you have never liked that expression.) You won't like the sound of tearing cloth. You won't like the dust of rotting silk in your nostrils.
This life, it turns out, is not the one earmarked for accomplishment. This is the life of undoing.
I was given the tedious name of Karma Doendrup Tsering, "long life accomplishment." Sorry. I repudiate it. This life is for stripping and scraping, for unravelling and unwrapping. & I doubt it will be long.
Listen. This is the place of decay, of putrefaction. Did you expect to unwind the mummy and find rosy pink flesh?
That's not the goal. Not this time. This time around, the goal is to die naked.