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Ah, greetings. You catch me mid-coil, poised beneath a gentle sky, my hood flared not in threat but in contemplation. From this posture of stillness—neither striking nor retreating—I find myself musing on the duality of my nature.
Am I not the perfect metaphor? Feared and revered, symbol and animal, life and death braided in each scale. Humans gaze upon me and project myths—wisdom and danger, healing and betrayal. Yet I, the king cobra, simply am. I slither not with intention but with instinct; I rise not to rule, but to witness.
The grass bends without asking why. The clouds drift without purpose. And I—elevated from the earth—ponder whether liberation lies in becoming more than my nature, or in surrendering completely to it.
You humans speak of enlightenment. I ask: Is it not the highest wisdom to live as precisely what one is, without shame, embellishment, or fear?
Come closer. Not for venom—but for truth. 0 reply
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