book of days serial #14

When the days passed and he couldn’t forget her, he began to grow frightened. When he went to the deep desert weeks after he had last seen her, he desired warmth and coffee in the pitch blue globe of the night. He somehow knew that his only defense was chastity, that it served him, like the shell of a tortoise, as both spine and armour. Not chastity of the cloth, but a positioning of the thoughts in such a chaste sphere that the focus on the directional energy of life is inherent. He could not change its direction telekinetically, but he would come to terms with it. He could not shed this vow even in thought. If he did, he would be destroyed. He would ignite like a spark in a barn full of hay. He would take it all with him. He was right, so he remained motionless in his car or rigid and upright on the futon in his apartment. Same body in both locations.