Sometimes I cover my ears, not to only drain out the noise,
But to hear echoes of my heart beat reverberate in cavity amidst my poise.
Be still and hear the deedum, deedum,
Listen to waves of blood rush through vein canals hum.
Only to riddle myself with a disorientation,
I’m a drummer boy and can’t hear my composition.
The inner score, rhythms and BPM,
The temperament of soul from which temper/tempo stem.
I cover my ears to give me introspection,
Where I’m heading and my souls direction.
Try sinking into a bath tub, ears under water,
You’ll again hear your heart and know where your thoughts are.
Try running up a hill until your lungs are on fire
And you feel your pulse getting higher and higher.
Know then you’re alive and you were never far,
All you had to do was to listen to the meter of your heart.
Not kidding, sink your ears under in a bath and hear your heart beat.
Sometimes you have to just make it a physical thing, when you can’t hear what it wants spiritually.
Nothing brings closer the meaning of you more than being deprived of oxygen and hearing your heart race to fill your lungs.
Physical culture should not be about moving your body through space for carefully selected comforts. It has to be a war against your ego, pushing boundaries to make you feel alive.