“Into a soul absolutely free from thoughts and emotion, even the tiger finds no room to insert its fierce claws.”
You can interpret this as you like.
Today, I will take it like this…
You could be perfect; a flower, a petal, a sunrise – everything in its allocated position, like soldiers lined-up for report. Sound-off, one, two. Every dimension, angle, line, is square, every fringe precise. Nothing asunder.
And from this exactness, this geometric simplicity, arises, what?
A standardised pattern of yesterday; the same tomorrow and again, and more so.
It is the imperfection that creates the beauty,
That stimulates growth and novelty.
My curse is my blessing; my impairment my essence.
Though I walk through the placid territories, it is the verisimilitude of turbulence that makes me and makes me over again.
Until I rest and regain my strength and aspire to something better.
Dr Rod’s Odd Blog (almondemotion) 
We are forged in the fire of experience and contribute our own talents and flaws.
Our souls progress through emotions and thoughts.
‘when I am old, I shall wear purple’ ( must get something purple, quickly)
LikeLike
Am sure you don’t need to get the purple for a good many years; age is a societal/psychological construct!
LikeLiked by 1 person
☺
LikeLike
This has set me pondering on purple versus the purple .
In Jenny Johnson’s poem wearing purple seems a sign of rebellion and self-realisation ( especially for a generation of muted-toned, restrictive young lives).
The purple could perhaps be the velvet cloth on the catafalque or the Emperor’s toga?
Think I will wear purple and fight the societal/psychological construct! ( Green hair, tattoos, electric blue boots? Tempting but don’t think so!)
LikeLiked by 1 person
purple was my mum’s favourite colour… nothing to do with royalty or grandeur; I too have sometimes toyed with the tattoo idea, but also, no.
LikeLiked by 1 person