I’ve been practising patience for some time now, in my own, very imperfect way. Now I seem to be slowly, slowly, moving into dance. It’s a bit like falling, but horizontally. There’s a hinch of frenzy, desire, the feeling of breaking out. But haste will spoil everything. What will happen when I enter this state of being? I’ll go back again, with different eyes, and continue my journey by recommencing. In this case, haste would be almost a sin, a mistake. A giving into hunger, gluttonously. Even though I’m always still searching for the animal inside of me, finding ways to let it out - if I’d behave like in the latter sentence, I’d not free anything, just keep it content and distracted in its cage. Distracted from what is behind the bars. I’m grateful, also a bit proud, for my strivings for freedom in the purest sense I have until now understood. Still, I lock myself up.