Pesky patience

Today appears to be about order and chaos.  I'm in the stream flowing between these two forces of nature.  Peaceful, calm.  Resting.  Eventually, but without regularity or warning, that which I need will and come to this place for will drop from one phase or the other and slip into the stream with me.  My purpose is two fold: patience and scarring.  Each time I strip another layer of myself in order to interact with john q public on these ever more intimate levels demanded of me by my profession - it sears my outer shell and toughens my shield at the same time making it thinner, warping it.  Before long it may be as in times before, when I could lay my belly bare to the world and trust that a wolf was hovering nearby, out of site, and ready to defend my soft sensitive parts from the scavengers.  Because in those times it was not that I could really see my visions or know my destiny, it was because I gave so much of me to a notion that he would save me from myself, so scavengers? nah, they were small time...now they are the bane of my existence.