By sacrificing all semblance of self and await the perfume that lingers on long after you’ve let the rabid dog that it is starve to death, long after you’ve stopped acknowledging it’s howls, let it bark like mad, and you just keep on being.
Don’t fool yourself, there is no state of being without the destruction of not just one, but all rabid dogs inside you. They’re not loyal, they’re cunning and deceitful.
Find a master who can show you who they are, what they look like and then kindly show you how to get rid of them.
When they bite, you will forever be inflicted with the disease of self devotion, an inevitable lowly state.
Keep them chained and let them rot.
The perfume of being will intoxicate you until you know no other way.