The striving, omniscient, self capitulating behemoth of inner resolve. To gaze upon its bald face is to see eternity itself. The ability to not merely confront any obstacle, but stare it down into dissolution. For within itself is the assuredness of never-ending satisfaction. For what can be said but that it hath the will to never die. Its sheer nature is abhorrent to the remotest possibility of relenting, even for the most infinitesimal a moment. Delving deep within ones self each will find at the very innermost core, oft hidden even from self awareness, the seed, sprouting, full-grown tree of unshakable certitude. In which expectations are not merely walked up to and met peaceably, but shattered unto oblivion, for the winds to carry forth to the ends of the earth as testament.

Digression. For the absolute focus upon such an unfathomably elusive aspect would be to sunder it upon the anvil, not cast into a force, but rendered useless by abuse. For what weapon-smith would purposefully relegate the most important of tasks to an untrained pupil, for whom the world has yet to open the flower of knowledge, cocooning him safely within the bosom of innocence. But within the immaculate timidity displayed with every action, is it not shown plain faced of the ideal we but allude to. For each spark of life must inherently posses such innumerable quantities of each shade thereof, as to be both ideal and antipathy of every action undertaken in ones finite days to walk the thin face of the world. For without the sparest shreds, no action could be undertaken that could be expected to end without utter failure as its core. For with each breath taken into the body, does not every cell of the entire entity exalt in its very own life, such that as a whole, it is an impossibility to contemplate the shadow of existence, in its absence.

To delineate into a singular word, the sum entirety thus rendered. Ego.