At Times we all suffer from a lack of intensity. Like a fire deprived of fuel, our embers gray, dim and dull. Dreams dry into dust and slip away with the breeze.
Let us not forget the blanket of doubt some seek to smother our flames with. Simply because your soul burns at a higher frequency then theirs. It blazes in such a bright hue it consumes them with jealousy.
Jealousy ...
Your fire wanes.You venture out onto the bridge in the dead of night to play your music into the wind. It doesn't hate you. It doesn't envy you. It doesn't want you to fail.
It simply embraces your song and invites you to play on. Notes fly away, doing no further harm to anyone elses ego. But that's just it ... they fly away. They are not doing any good either. Somewhere, deep within -- a voice. "What the hell are you doing."
The Lion stirs, awakened from his forced slumber, and he ... he is angry. No he's pissed -- with you. How hastefully did you surrender your self -- Surrender your loves, your dreams, your will to fight.
Resign yourself to a pit of mediocrity and wait to die? Like hell you will! The Lion turns his gaze back to you. Eyes. Those eyes. They penetrate your chest and find your heart, warming it, increasing its pace.
The Lion roars.
The sound hits you with so much force, it nearly bursts your eardrums. It rocks you back in your stance. Your feet are driven back by the force. They beg for traction, fight for grip. Once again -- that voice, "What are you going to do?" You turn your eyes skyward. They fix onto the summit you had once attempted.
"What are you going to do?"
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