The body is your temple, your housing, your sweet home for your spirit. The body is the heavens, the kingdom of God, the abyss the hells and so forth all mixed into one. For there cannot be one without the other. Those who tell you of stories and tales, who claim their correctness, that their path is the only ends to truth and peace and heaven, coincidentally, are often those huffing and weaving flushed in their cheeks to those who they profess to. Yet, who do they confess to? Their body is a false temple built by imaginary lines laid with conceptualized craftsmanship. Whom and or what apparition do you cling to and why? What is it that you need, and what is it that thing? This, what can your obsession really can give you? Is it something truly satisfactory, or just confection, simply a story?