Everyone will recognise William Blake’s poem.

it is short, not sweet and full.

O Rose, thou art sick!
The invisible worm
That flies in the night,
In the howling storm,

Has found out thy bed
Of crimson joy:
And his dark secret love
Does thy life destroy.

WE do not have to guess who this invisible worm is that flies in the night n the howling storm of Samsara.

Call it Mara or call it your own seeking worm Identity within.

What has it found that bed of crimson joy, the beauty of being a human creature.. And its love, dark and secret to own that true and beautiful self-hood that has no identity indeed is killing and will eventually destroy all humanity not only in you but all sentient creatures.


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