The snake looks for his friend. It hung from the twig waiting for his prey. He knew what he wanted, and he got what he wanted. He lived within walls. He knew, you can only talk to a form, by being a form. He anchored himself to a twig, a home, a way of seeing himself, an illusion, and grew larger every day, in the land of all things that moved.
And then on an odd day standing at the lining of the water, under a rock, it decides to shed its skin. a great endless sea formed before him, of the things he is, an infinity way beyond his power to choose. He began undoing the walls, until he was so naked he was week before the clothed, he had nothing to show.
He was the open sky and the bottom of the sea, and nothing in between, where the frogs resided. His every motion a kaleidoscope forever changing form, breaking not becoming. He was the undefined in a sea of definitions. His power to tell good from bad, prey from predator, and himself from another was gone, he was free, he lost his power to resist - not the filth, nor the gleaming water, nothing except wanting.
"you are in control, I, out of . I go everywhere my body takes me, I stop at nothing."
Does it take more courage to anchor yourself safely to a raised boat, or to make yourself vulnerable in an endless sea of myriad shades?
Freedom amidst illusion is confusion.
The wind slithered down the gaps in the tree above, and landed within, tormenting the naked, playing with it like a cat plays with its unsuspecting prey before killing it.
He knew no way back and he had no skin to hide under.