Excision of long-growing, thriving malignancies leaves emptiness . . . thereby requiring healthy cells to grow and fill a warm and pulsing space, formerly occupied by relentless killers. Even one undetected, hideously altered cell can stealthily enter and infect again all those healthy ones -- thwarting a drastic rescue mission.
So it is within space just vacated within the fertile, ever-mutating mind. A deadly, tenacious idea, having grown to giant proportions, is abandoned . . . to be replaced with . . . more noble pursuits, or seven demons where one once resided? Those small but potentially deadly modified cells of thought lie in patient wait.
Stay quiet, refuse to submit. This humming, alert, moistly receptive batch of tissue, washed and dressed for proper presentment, is capable of survival. Listen carefully, respond unfailingly. One's own body cries out daily, for acknowledgment, for attention, for support, help. Insert strength, purity, hope, alignment . . . with each pregnant moment, so very similar to small cells . . . those tiny, wholly able moment/cells the final answer to living -- believe this.