Greasy is reality and rocks will turn to jell-o if you're inclined so.
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I, the faithful vegetarian, held a large, greasy stick of beef jerky in my hands. I was in a large, twisting hall-way room. The wall seperating me from the outside world was entirely clear glass and had a glass outside-door. Outside was a green but over-cast day and I could see trees.
And before me, looking up eagerly, was my friend the gray cat. He was a street cat but clean and friendly of demeanor. Rather on the thin side, he had glowing green eyes. He regularly came in and left through the glass door.
I regularly fed him beef jerky outside the glass wall but I had never fed him inside the glass wall. Outside the glass wall, he had to contend with other wild cats. For this reason, he had developed the habit of pouncing on the jerky and looking around fiercely as he ate it.
How thick is the glass wall that holds us from enlightenment! How frail are our conceptions! How habitual are our actions! It is the glass wall that seperates us from God.
And the cat looked up hungrily up at the jerky in my hand, as if ready to pounce on me and take it. So I threw it to him. He pounced on it fiercely, pinning it to the ground. He looked through the glass wall, hissing at imaginary rival cats.
And how thick is the glass wall that will turn to jell-o if you're inclined so.