SolarFlare6
Bluelighter
K, this isn't mine I couldn't write poetry if my life depended on it but, this little poem always inspired me to get good at doing the things I like, especially dancing
Consciousness is a symptom of disease.
All that moves well moves without will.
All skilfulness, all strain, all intention is contrary to ease.
Practice a thousand times, and it becomes difficult; a thousand thousand, and it becomes easy; a thousand thousand times a thousand thousand, and it is no longer Thou that doeth it, but It that doeth itself through thee. Not until then is that which is done well done.
Thus spoke Frater Perdurabo as he leapt from rock to rock of the moraine without ever casting his eyes upon the groung.
(btw. That's Chapter 32 is Aliester Crowleys "Book of lies" Liber 333).
Consciousness is a symptom of disease.
All that moves well moves without will.
All skilfulness, all strain, all intention is contrary to ease.
Practice a thousand times, and it becomes difficult; a thousand thousand, and it becomes easy; a thousand thousand times a thousand thousand, and it is no longer Thou that doeth it, but It that doeth itself through thee. Not until then is that which is done well done.
Thus spoke Frater Perdurabo as he leapt from rock to rock of the moraine without ever casting his eyes upon the groung.
(btw. That's Chapter 32 is Aliester Crowleys "Book of lies" Liber 333).
