October 30th, as the moon prepares for fullness, a penguin slowly walks our desiring child-selves across a cliff passage, advising us to step slowly. But how can we stroll at a leisurely pace, taking in the scenery hinting at rock & ice, if we’re ill-at-ease? We arrive at a pitch black archway, encasing us in a power center that demands stillness. Sub-zero wind blasts our scalps and cheeks under there; a rush of cold that rewires the inner lights of desire. A nearby voice, perhaps that penguin-companion, or maybe another in that space where beings as we know them become invisible, whispers, “Know how to be uneasy, and know how this can steadily intensify your power. First, your passionate grasping must be refrigerated in order to express itself hereafter in a way that both survives and creates.”
In a different dimension, we’re shoplifting in tuxedos, smashing the glass and then vandalizing, staking claim to the force of possession itself. All the sensations that have mastered us through our cravings, the utter enjoyment of toxins, now clarifies itself when it’s all turned to ice cubes instead of flooding us with wavy inundation. Stay under the cool, silent arches, and let your violent, domineering greed freeze into something that preserves the goodness of others.