Interned to the Internal Gnosis

What really does hibernation ask?

To forgo, to forsake and to forfeight

The external tendrils

of energy

Into the

freefall, freecurl and freefurl.

Where the

zenith is zero

The still point

is pointless

And the void

is unavoidable

To go to the edges

of your

mind and muck

out the manure

To go to the pockets

of the domestic

psyche and cull out the creeping cultural conditions

To face the narrator,

the actor,

the script writer,

And ask

whose writing this story?

There is

no formula, no protocol and no finish line

Its a deep abiding

reckoning

Its voluntary

surrendering

in to the captivity

of the hibernation.

Relinquishing

the return ticket

Revelling

in the nowhere

Rendezvousing

with no one

Interned

to the

Internal gnosis.