We are all hunters to some capacity. It is an elevation…true nature. A rarefaction of soul.
It is where this capacity leads…which then leads one to understand of themselves, to truly see themselves. To be civilized, to be monstrous, to respect and to take respect.
In the hunt…it is he who is most grounded that will rise above. He will see beyond what is naturally in front of him, what is behind him and what will come thereafter.
In the hunt…it is he who feels the power in his peculiar hands; it extends into his mind and then into his immediate surroundings, this which will signify the beginning with a measured end.
For capability is only as far as the eye can see, and in reaching he understands this must be unbridled to be procured.
It is the environment which calls onto him and he is called to enter spurious realm.
This expanse where one may be seemingly above or below; ever and again in the equidistant ground.
It is this realm in which the hunt exposes unto you…the colors and shades of the darkness, light in what could never be termed either black or white.
In the age of slight progression, it is in backwards movement that he understands how to move forward and lose his way.
He understands that while he may have mastered noise prior to his start..all the elements can at no time be known. There will be the inevitable silence.
He wades through waters in which he may ultimately stifle himself, by his lack of fortitude to oblige that which he rightly sees.
This is ground where one will take and gain but as in gentle balance…there is loss which will present itself too.
For in the hunt there is a chaotic stability…
and in the hunter a recognition, he winnows in his will.
He may fight, he may oblige…these are but remains of the day.
For he is in his fullest capacity,
who distinguishes of himself…the arms and the lengths
and the true palate…the taste of the hunt .
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