III

The sun ascends, and with it comes the world- duties and desires calling out your name. Into life’s stream of noise you are now hurled.

Morning’s purity falters all the same; old habits stir like ghosts in sun’s glare. The ego creeps back, staking its sly claim.

By noon’s bright boast, beware the subtle snare: pride rekindling from accomplishment’s spark, anger arising when things go unfair.

Though reborn new, by midday you remark shadows of yesterday trailing your feet. The world mirrors your mind-both light and dark.

A sudden slight makes your temper seethe, an ancient anger you thought had died last night. A craving knocks, old hunger with new teeth.

You catch yourself grasping, asserting “my right,” your freshly shed skin slowly growing scales. The self rebuilds itself in the daylight.

This is the test: as challenge assails, will you cling to the transient identity that crystallizes as the noon sun pales?

Or will you recall the morning’s clarity when you rose unbound by the past day’s chain? In each reaction lies a choice silently:

to live free now or to live old pain. “Memento mori,” a memory breathes low, remember the night’s lesson forged in flame.

You pause amid turmoil, letting it go- breathing deep, you let the moment pass through like a wind that leaves no scar as it blows.

Each time you resist building ego anew, you strengthen the freedom gained at dawn. Yet inevitably, self accrues and accrues.

By twilight, pieces of armor you’ve drawn back onto your soul without even knowing, layer by layer as day marches on.

It’s human to gather, by evening growing a new carapace of pride, worry, desire. Your mind weaves stories unbidden, flowing

from ancient patterns not easy to retire. Do not despair that the old self returns; the work of a day may again require

the purging by which true renewal burns. As golden afternoon fades to dusk hue, accept that impermanence ever turns

the wheel of self. What’s needed comes in view: the courage to die once more when day ends, to descend into night’s abyss anew.

With mindful heart, you watch as daylight bends toward darkness. You gather lessons learned, preparing to meet the night as a friend.

For you know this cycle must be interned: the self that grew from morn to eventide must willingly to funeral pyre be turned.

No accomplishment, failure, joy or pride you carry should chain you beyond today. Each must be offered to flames you abide.

So as shadows lengthen, you quietly say farewell to this day’s self in gratitude. Soon, at the altar of dusk it will lay.