If it hurts good do it

Lately the alarms have been going off a bit less often.

While that might be true, it's more relevant that the mental heaves and surges that tend to be sparked by the moment-to-moment collision with reality have not been quite so painful. I had not noticed it happening, but all of a sudden it seems as if I am at last able to experience, for example, the adrenaline rushes which once spelled anxiety rather as awakenings, as alerts. This is life.

If sensation is not a warning, then what is it?

I've been kneaded into a dough, such a complex and fine foliation of dependent fears and aversions that, to begin, I must remember how not to fear the fear, before fear itself could be relieved. When the alarm of being alive becomes a sensual thing, then one more piece of me is free.