In the throbbing heart of chaos, where adrenaline cascades,
There lives a starving animal, a creature of the shades.
Its name is known by few who dare, the mind it’s habitat,
For every soul who dares to delve, must learn to feed the rat.
This is not a beast of fur and claw, of whisker, tail, and fang,
No, this beast is born within, a silent, hungry pang.
It yearns for fire, for flight, for fear, for moments pure and raw,
For within the wild whirlwind's eye, it finds its sacred law.
The rat within craves not the scraps of ordinary days,
Not the idle chatter, nor the familiar, well-trodden ways.
It demands the sharp edge of adrenalin, slicing through the haze,
The thunderous roar of action, setting dormant hearts ablaze.
In the noise and rumble of the storm, it seeks the quiet core,
In the terror's tremble, it finds calm, and hungers all the more.
It craves the stillness found in speed, the peace in pounding hearts,
And in those moments, lost in time, the mundane world departs.
Feed the rat, the mantra hums, an echo in the soul,
A siren call to those who tire of life's incessant toll.
A remedy for weariness, for the weight of the passing days,
For those who wander the flatland, lost in the superficial haze.
To feed the rat is to quench the thirst, to heed the inner plea,
A feast of heightened sensation, a surrender to the spree.
In the quiet cocoon of fury, in the tranquil eye of fear,
Lie the morsels the rat savours, each moment crystal clear.
To feed the rat is prevention, a cure, a potent antidote,
Against the anemia of routine, against a life lived by rote.
Against the sickness of superficiality, the pallor of the mundane,
Against the dreariness of predictability, the shackle and the chain.
Each day we choose to feed the rat is a day lived in defiance,
Of the nebulous boundaries, of faceless compliance.
The rat refuses to be a slave to time, to live in bursts and spurts,
It craves the unrestrained, the open skies, the untrodden dirt.
Not all will understand this craving, this hunger raw and real,
It is a rhythm felt by few, an undercurrent only they can feel.
The ones who find their sustenance in the unpredictable, the wild,
The ones who reject the safety of the known, who long to be reconciled.
In their hearts beats the rat, robust, alive and free,
Unfettered by trivial pursuits, unburdened by decree.
The rat seeks no public praise, no validation in which to wallow,
It cares not for trends or crowd, it chooses its own path to follow.
The rat, if fed, is a faithful friend, a mirror of the self,
A measure of the soul within, not wealth or fame but health.
To know the rat is to know oneself, both the ebb and the surge,
To seek the summit and the depth, where fear and calm converge.
The rat in each of us is different, a personal compass of the mind,
A reflection of who we think we are, and the self, we seek to find.
It's revealed in times of pressure, in the struggles, we engage,
On the rock, in the water, through the air, its hunger sets the stage.
The rat, a duality within us, both of virtue and of vice,
Nourished, it guides us gladly, starved, it exacts its heavy price.
It reveals to us who we truly are, in moments raw and real,
The grit beneath the gloss, the strength within the ordeal.
Each of us harbors the rat, a part of us untamed,
It craves the rush of the cliff edge, the challenge yet unnamed.
Some will find their rat in mountains, where the snow meets sky,
Others in the silent depths, where the deep-sea creatures lie.
It's a siren call to sensation, to moments stark and pure,
A hunger for total focus, for feelings raw and sure.
Those moments when all fades away, except the task at hand,
These are the times we live for, which only the passionate understand.
It's in the heart of challenge, in the face of strife and toil,
That the rat reveals our inner selves, in this terrestrial coil.
To quench the thirst of this inner beast, to feel its wild elation,
Is to truly know oneself, in joyous revelation.
The moments of pure clarity, when senses are unfazed,
Are the feast that nourishes the rat, that sets the soul ablaze.
These are the moments that matter, the peak of the ascent,
The fragments of eternity, where meaning is intent.
To feed the rat is to delve deep, to confront the dark abyss,
To explore the breadth of the self, to court the serpent's hiss.
Through suffering, strife, and challenge, the depths of self unfurl,
An understanding profound, a rare and precious pearl.
So, feed your rat, let it feast on life, on fear, thrill, and delight,
Let it guide you through the storm, to the calm and quiet light.
For to starve the rat is to starve the self, of the zest, the verve, the spark,
In feeding the rat, we feed our souls, a beacon in the dark.
To snuff out life, not knowing this truth, the potential left untapped,
Is the greatest sorrow one could bear, in life's intricate, endless lap.
So let us strive, let us quest, let us dare to feed the rat,
For in the echoes of its satisfaction, we find where our true selves are at.
Roger Chao is an Australian fortunate enough to be living in the beautiful Dandenong Ranges. Since a young age he has always been inspired by the concept of Feeding the Rat which has lead him on numerous adventures around the globe. Currently he spends more time reminiscing and writing as an armchair rat-feeder but is hoping this balance can change soon!