All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored or introduced into a retrieval system, transmitted in any form or by any means (including electronic, photocopying, mechanical, manual or otherwise) without the prior express & written consent of the owner of the copyright of this book.
ISBN#: 978-1-329-64911-8
©2015 Valerie Lynn Stephens
Why are you so afraid of Sadness, when it is Sadness from whence ye were spawned? The melancholic spirit, the Mother of all stillness & reflection, hence the bearer of all true Felicity.
Sorrow must always come first, & from thenceforth, may unbridled Joy spring into a vigorous chrysalis of conciliation & rebirth from within The Human Soul.
And as Anima Mundi now drinks of the foaming blood of the grape, it can become drunk upon the choicest wines of Solemnity & Introspection, in that the omniscient Eye of Death may awaken, swaddled & gently sheathed within the silken, saturnine arms of that ultimate unbearable lightness of Being-Hope & Love, the progeny of all Grief & Lament alike.
In that the omniscient Eye of Death may awaken unto the Eternality & Infinity of the Light by which all truly sees.
We long for congruency, finding most often, asymmetry, our own part always seemingly falling short.
And we proclaim in our distress of isolation that we would cast off our Scapegoat's hide, were it not for the fear of such beastly countenance truly becoming of us in this very act of subjugation to our enemies.
To play the fool to yourself, or to others?
There is no question, that the answer always lies within the former.
Salvation always lies from within, even when one must err on the side of perdition.
It all began in the mind, and it has snowballed from there.
The poison is in the wound, you see?
And because it dwells within a world of endless affliction, endless infliction-the wound cannot heal, and therefore has it killed again.
Dear God, what have we caused? Everything is effected/affected.
So we think, if only the others knew what I know, could we all possibly be redeemed, coming home each, one by one, in equitable, absolving prostration, the prodigal Sons & Daughters of all world Chaos being reborn again into the true manifestation of Love & Harmony.
And we think that perhaps together with wills combined, could we make the Earth surrender its Herculean grasp upon Heaven & Hell, as they converge to meet upon the last battleground of this writhing, solemn Earth in its fitful rage, as the God-Being finally removes His masque of Righteous Wrath & Abdicated Reign, revealing Himself as He truly is, the Source, the Cause of that which has brought us here.
And we hope that then will we finally come to understand Eternity, as we lament & repent of all earth-time squandered by trying to murder the essence of the very salient human features which could redeem us, all of time spent fighting a battle which had all along, already been won for us.
Sometimes we feel the joy well up from deep within us, only to quickly beat it down with the highly flammable fabric of Suppression, or, worse yet, Repression, of course only seeking to craft a kindling device with even more incendiary reserves.
And the uncertainty which holds us to it is a matter which may consume us if we heed it not.
For that fire stoked by the friction of Resistance to Life's rite of initiation into the membership of Faith & Obeisance, is one so fierce that it burns either way.
But what is it that incites the anguish of Man?
Perhaps it is not the ominous presence of some demonic-force, but perhaps it is undeniable propinquity of the Seraphic.
For only the beaming face of the love & hope of those things transcendent, divine and yet wholly elusive can so rile one human entity to such Madness & profligacy.
But before all this?
Before all of what we now experience & can know, had we the foreknowledge of Heaven & Hell?
Is the mortal's longing for Heaven & yet irresistible pull towards a Hell of his own creation the trailing afterbirth of worlds pre-existently intuited & perhaps even lived?
Anima humana, anima mundi, anima divina. (The human soul, the world soul, the soul divine.)
Quod me nutrit, me destruit. (That which nourishes me, destroys me.)
De profundis clamo adite domine. (Out of the depths I cry to You, Oh Lord.)
Ubicumque me verto ades. (Wherever I turn, there You are.)
Ego dilecto meo et dilectus meus. (I am my Beloved's & my Beloved is mine.)
Mens sana incorpore sano. (A sound mind in a sound body.)
Horridas nostrae mentis purga tenebris. (Cleanse the horrible darknesses of our mind.)
Mundus vult decipi. (The world wants to be deceived.)
Quod natura relinquit imperfectum, arte de fide et veritas in coelestibus perficitur. (What nature leaves imperfect, the art of faith & truth in Heaven perfects.)
Occulus Deum, Occulus veritas. (The eye of God, the eye of Truth.)
Dirigatur, Domine, oratio mea, sicut incensum, in conspectus tuo. (Let my prayer, Oh Lord, ascend like incense in Thy sight.)
Benedictus qui venit in nomine Domini. (Blesses is He who cometh in the name of the Lord.)
Accendat in nobis Dominus ignem sui amoris. (May the Lord enkindle in us the fire of His love.)
Fiat justicia, ruat coelum! (Let justice be done, though the Heavens fall!)
In nomine Patris, et Filii, et Spiritus Sancti. Amen. (In the name of the Father, The Son, & The Holy Spirit.) (So be it.)
Time weighs so heavily upon the mortal human soul-cannot be transcended. Ah! But this is just it! It need not be transcended, merely dwelt fully within, as this concentration of mindfulness is is transcendence breached in & of itself. For the act of choosing to be fully conscious in a world of such horror is perhaps the most tragically unrecognized act of ultimate human Heroism. For the God-being of many world religions speaks: "Be still, and know that I AM." For there is an undeniably immutable, omnipresent essence infusing all of life with hylozoic, quantum consciousness & hence, substantiality.
And as the mystics of the East believe, "Consciousness is the ground of all Being." And indeed perhaps Consciousness itself is Being, is Life-the light of that "dark matter" theorized by cosmologists & physicists microcosmically dominating & infusing perhaps the ultimate mind-stuff of all that is. But of course, as many intuit, God is a concept we have yet to come to fully comprehend, although there are some absolutes of which we can be certain nevertheless. For indeed, one of the main conundrums of human society is how we are so often socially engineered to separate thought from feeling or intuition. For the human entity needs fluidity of ontological integration, not the kind of militaristic, crude dichotomization we often inflict, in order to both survive & to efficiently thrive both from within & without. Moreover, we can easily become so caught up within this strict, survivalist mode that we miss out on the natural abundance of Joy that can be gleaned from even the most arcane of moments & happenstance. And although an embrace of true inward & outward freedom does entail weighty responsibility, it is also at the root of our greatest triumphs & ecstasies. And paradoxically so, the source of true & lasting Transcendence can be foraged only from the high plains of Simplicity & Virtue.
And although a higher plain of consciousness might not be able to be breached with homeostatic finality while we inhabit this current incarnation, a synthesis of the age-old, epic battle between Survival vs. Thrivance can indeed be obtained for long enough periods during which we can accomplish our noblest goals, both individually & collectively. For we all must continue to weigh the costs of this life so rife with Paradox & seeming disorder & indignity, and often weigh them in very heavily indeed. But what the physical sciences reveal to us about such discontinuity, is that there is also a reverse kind of entropy at work as well within that universe governed by laws more metaphysical. For underlying it all, we sense an immaculate order & perfection of design. And indeed, as many world religions & branches of spiritual discipline & practice intuit, it is only when we attempt to resist the natural ebb & tide of all things as they were created, that we do more harm than good to ourselves, others & our earth.
In continuum, as is also naturally built into our psychological human design, we resist the wisdom of the inherent perfection & yet constant transformation in & of all things not so much because we fear that of our own evolving, but because we fear that of our eventual dissolving into the so-called Void, or Unknown. For indeed, change is loss, & is experienced by every human entity in painful & often frightening ways. Hence, our resistance to all that is free & natural. Yet I believe that our metaphysiognomy, if you will, is structured in such a way that we each undergo metamorphosis within the chrysalis of our Soul whether or not we resist or acknowledge it. We move forward & yet contain the memory of our total journey up to the point of our ponderance upon our life's travails, thus often confusing reflection with irksome digression.
Yet we are, I believe, genetically programmed to dwell in states of continual growth & edification as we go about even the most seemingly mundane of daily tasks. For we, as a species, were not created merely to procreate, or to be industrious in other venues of worldly endeavor, but were, I believe, also created for the purpose of intellectual & spiritual evolution. Indeed in the Judaist tradition, we see this principle of the co-edification of both intellect and spirit at its peak of elegant synthesis & dynamism. And perhaps what Judeo-Christianity deems "evil" is merely that force which seeks to keep individuals blinded to each their own potential & actualization.
In finale, the message most paralleled between all major world religions is one of expediency & new universalism which recognizes an inherent wisdom that we are already saved, in the here & now. Redemption is not something which need be striven for inasmuch as it is a state of grace already available to us in every moment. Thus, again, how we delegate our thoughts, feelings & actions-otherwise known as "freedom & responsibility of choice", is tantamount. And if we choose to so desperately cling to idols, long ago since crumbled & fallen, we will not be able to fully grasp & hold onto the true & everlasting gifts of the Spirit which God offers to us here & now, in every precious breath of thought, feeling & movement inward & outward. For we are all, in this very moment, redeemed by the inexhaustible, eminent & unconditional love of that of our Creator God. And although, due to the "unseen dark principalities" which we will continue to battle each within ourselves & coming from others of our human kin, we can keep refining our immortal souls in the fine art of letting go to hold on. For the one true & living God does not base our worth or our worthiness upon myopic & demoralizing human concepts of "good" or "bad" or "saved" or "damned".
For God is eternal & ever-eminent over anything our finite human intellects can conjure for our own amusement, edification or demise. We all deserve to be honoured within our humanity, as is, for this human process is, for each & every one of us, nothing less than a sacred ritual of unfolding. And although the implication & explication of each our own actualization might proceed with reticence & even a certain amount of stealth, when at last we are reborn unto eternality, we will have been granted a visage & ontology beyond anything we ever could have envisaged.
Soften mine heart, Oh Lord.
Make me right again.
Be my fix-er & not my fix.
The outer shell has hardened
& thus is no longer malleable,
like clay, at the mercy of Thine artistry.
But make haste,
for I can no longer bear
the thought of becoming,
knowing that being is truly what
composes & fuels the essence of Life.
Nothing is fixed, static-
nor is it meant to be.
Thus when it seems that we
have gotten there,
that we have "arrived",
must we then crumble & break,
with all of the fanatical obeisance
& veracity that we can muster.
For it is the very lack of such
surrender to our own impotence,
& helplessness in the face of it all
which has brought us here, to You, Oh Lord.
Yet being broken is still, not enough,
for now, although we have indeed
made our move, are we still
just inert, shattered, hardened fragments
of our former assemblage
of Divine Mosaic & Machinations,
implosively & explosively loaded & half-cocked.
Yet oftentimes we still must go through
with the scheme of our own
debasing & demise in moments
of immanent Apathy & atrophy of Mind & Heart,
for at least we can feel as if we have
the passion to still commit to something.
At least in these of our darkest,
most frightening moments we feel as though
we are seeking the answer to some ultimate question,
& we can be rest assured that,
somewhere along the way, someone will stop,
bowing down to lend us a helping hand,
where we fall short for ourselves,
so that we may begin to really see & hear the answer.
Is this being of such Insolence & Extremes
a creation of Yours, Good Master,
or both one of Yours and one of our own making?
But what to be in between, what to be in between...
For when the Self continues its ripening,
& actualization, and we must then find a way
to acquiesce to Nature without compromising
our current man-made philosophies
to a state of further disgrace & detriment,
the main task of earthly survival often trumps
that, Oh Lord, of divine ascendancy to our so-called
spiritually evolutionary inheritance.
Thus, I ask, Oh my God, how do we each,
I for myself, he for himself, & she for herself-
become the people of genuine reverence which we strive to become,
when many earthly "masters" vie for our appeasement?
For we do not wish to blaspheme Thee or ourselves,
and yet must also continue moving forward
upon the time-space continuum with equal deference
to all of our passions & desires.
And I suppose here is where one realizes Hypocrisy
to be just as meanderingly indifferent & discontinuous
to our human plight-indeed perhaps even irrelevant to it.
For the higher aspirations of Humankind
always manage to assert themselves in some place,
& at some time before, during & after
even the most depraved of human endeavors.
Thus, must we commit ourselves to the entrapments
of moralistic tyranny with such austerity of purpose?
For was it not You, Oh Lord, Who fashioned us
within the very nature of such sensual esurience?
We cry to You of our keen incomprehension
of the doubly-binding command to subterfuge
who we are at our most authentic core, in order that
we may become that which we are not,
yet are promised someday to become?
Or is this merely yet another torture device
crafted only by the hands of Humankind,
mistakenly patented in Thy name?
Yet we must continuously striate these two,
seemingly irreconcilable worlds-
painfully constricting ourselves down to just two
dueling entities when we truly contain multitudes.
Will we remain ever split into two,
thus adding up to nothing?
How has the human spirit endured such excruciating Paradox
throughout our relatively brief history?
Then again, after all the only true defeat & victory,
granted simultaneously to both players,
is that of Stalemate.
For perhaps this mortal human battle is less
about defeats & victories as it is about The Fight itself,
& how much we give to it-and why
& in Whose name.
The fog has lifted & today,
let us each feel clearly,
the Love we have always held so dearly,
which our selfish Fear & Pride have kept at bay-
when just yesterday, the Mind gritted its teeth,
& our weary hearts' muffled screams
yet again echoed unanswered,
drowned out as they were,
by the black noise of mosaic Fear,
easling itself as Higher Art,
depriving the masterfully crafted
& inherent Beauty & Perfection there beneath-
It is Joy!
Spawned by Love's baptismal meditations,
as the defenses of false "Self"
no longer need be put up in wasteful haste
to leave the Mind with only more illusions
of compulsive assertions of fallible, truncated Logic,
and resentments towards those
whose inflicted wounds
have taught us how to grab onto
the branches surest to break
when we reach out for them in the storms
of our life.
Yes, today, let the fog gently lift.
Let us feel clearly now,
so that we may choose to step outside
of the discomfort zones
of creaturely indulgence
which we have militantly erected around ourselves
with cruel deliberation to stave off an enemy
which can be defeated neither through
the quietly insidious insanity
of overbearing Indifference
nor through the rancor & discord
of Rage & Indignation,
which we often cultivate in the name
of some "outside" force that we need
to gain some semblance
of “victory” and control over,
but an enemy which is won over instead,
and a battle best fought with the same Love & Faith
we had forgotten in the face of all worldly confusion-
so buried as it was, beneath the gravitas of our human afflictions.
For in truth, we are fighting an enemy
which has already been conquered,
& and a battle which was already won.
Alas, the curtain is closing. Here is the former masque, fashioned of that oppressive, hideous, Nabokovian constraint. I hereby resign from my traditional, for-too-long played out roles of Mediocrity, lest they become my slow but sure demise, as they can surely only continue along an infinite line to an Eternity in Hell for such negligence of God's grace & gifts bestowed upon me.
Yes, I must go forth now, into the world, where the only roles I will sign on to play are those which I have crafted & writ myself-the roles we are all revealed to truly play in each end act. For we are all saints masquerading as devils.
I am the wild animal that never bites-even when cornered.
Tamed by the fear of my own destructive potential, I remain, held ever captive by Freedom, in a world-jungle where Self-Preservation always comes before Thrivance.
Thus is my so-deemed "civility" my gravest weakness, and I am forever endangered, but never extinct.
As a matter of course, I am the creature most visible, clothed within the camouflage of my reservation & my stealth.
But worser still, I am the beast which must live in passive-aggressive indifference & opposition to all which comes first & hence best nature to me.
I follow both the potentially most redemptive but also the most egregiously destructive path, whilst pretending either way, that I always come out clean on the other side.
And it is a realm beyond Loneliness where I tread, for I also must guard against the temptations of common impulse & conformity, although my assertion of individuation does further estrange & endanger me.
Yet I must remain upon my own path nevertheless, as I am all too aware of how the quietly subversive hysteria of the masses banded together in so-called solidarity can so easily be mistaken for the Utopian ideal obtained.
Hence, it is distinction which brings true honor, as this is the most arduous & perilous path to travail.
Yet indeed, a higher synthesis of Society and Self is the only means to the end of true & abiding social reform & communion.
And in the end, we must ask ourselves whether we will answer each to our Death & Resurrection of triumphs ignoble or meritorious.
For the true task of this mortal life is not in winning the battles which we all must wage against the inequities of all earthly magistrates, but in the maintenance of that canonical counsel offered up graciously by the divine hand of those truths which have been pillaged from their ruins.
For true Victory lies in surrender-but not truce, for a side indeed must be chosen where both Heavenly ally & Hadetian foe vie for election.
And all worldly authority also lacks faith in both its constitution & consensus.
Yet beware, for although a marriage with rebellion against such forces upon this earth may seem an all too amenable one, it is a bride or bridegroom which must be shared with many.
Ultimately, the animal which has the greatest chance for both survival & thrivance, is the one which cultivates within itself, enough inner strength to be weak, enough righteous Pride to be humble, enough distinction of Individuality to be one with all others, and enough creaturely dignity to become more & more, fully Divine.
Each new course of this Life must be charted from a negative integer. If only we could lose control of unnatural selection, barricading the earthen church of all sacred yet forbidden, would Life no longer need be lived in masked revolt against those dark principalities sensed yet unseen, as Survival's slow but sure slaughter of true Living.
Thus perhaps what this world deems Madness is the only truly redemptive grace & cause.
The one with the laughing eyes is the most serious of us all. For deep lamentation always curdles beneath the tip of his conundrum-dumbed tongue.
In moments like these, we all laugh with a hearty delight unparalleled, for this human existence is revealed in its inherent splendor, beauty & perfection.
For we can see now, everything as it really is.
For upon the day of Rapture, the Christ-God will sayeth, "And now can you see me as I really am."
And there is felt, an acute sentience & subtle yet profound lucidity which seems to make it all shine with the indestructible beams of Hope that nothing is as callously simplistic or crude as it may seem, or as we may need to whittle it down to in moments of human vulnerability & terror.
For as long as a human heart searches for healing & rebirth, absolution & redemption will continue to be as equally as infinite & inexhaustible as their attendant causes.
And one triumphant day, will those who have fought for the Righteous Cause, know justice for all.
Laugh, then be still, my friends.
We are the world we yearn to manifest.
So, stop believing what you are not, & start being what you truly are.
Sticks & stones skim skin & bones but words are the balms which desert me. I can't exert me. I am stuck in my throat. There is nothing worse than this kind of constipation-an inertia of Soul from within a moving body is always cause for the worst kind of motion sickness.
And so it goes on ad nauseum, like a compass with no electro-magnetic center to start from.
Yet this feeling is far worse than merely not knowing which way to turn next.
For inertia from within the Soul is, more often than not, a comparative noun, meaning that it has a choice to become instead, its antonym.
Yet with the finality of Death, this is not true.
Thus perhaps even the Life that one feels one does not fully live and in which one may currently toil & burn, & endlessly ache & yearn is nevertheless worth so much more than that which it repeatedly fails to yield.
We are whole when the suffering has subsided, revealing its true form for what it was all long, Mercy, Transcendence, Absolution, Redemption.
And when Love has been neglected and is felt once again, is let into the Soul, this experience carries with it, its own paradoxical pangs, for the Past is no more, and now a new eulogy must be sung, gently coaxing with ambient lullaby, the demons to sleep until they, too, have forgotten their lament & Rage.
For we now see ourselves as the prodigal entities of our true Father & Master above, no longer prostrated as we were before the altar of the Dark One, as the pulse quickened with each new barricade erected, our blood running ever arsenic beneath the skin.
And though the afflictions of past worlds leave their indelible imprints upon the Psyche, they no longer possess the power to destroy as the grace of God's Love may now flow unkempt.
And we wonder what took us so long, and why the Journey must be so arduous, so ravaging.
Yet seemingly all of a sudden, we find ourselves changed, in the twinkling of an eye-we find ourselves reborn from the inhospitable yet nutrient rich Womb of Epektasis-Mother to the Soul's gradual ascension to an infinitude of worlds to come.
Yet most of all we must remember, that all beings divine must first descend to Hades.
In a world of such belligerently negligent Deception, only the Truth hides us safely from view, also emboldening a distinct form of redeeming contrast, as the weary Soul is engulfed with alluring warmth, light & depth.
But when we dare to live the Truth, and revel within the dynamism which we exert upon others, we come to see that it is only while dwelling within Truth, that we can see our irreducible need for others and theirs for us.
And during these periods in our human existence, we vibrate & resonate with an indescribable Joy & Newness.
And all of the darkness & sufferings of past states of being are no longer seen or felt as the nihilistically forged anchors of futility, meaninglessness & despair, and they are stored away just as quickly as they first found us, setting us free to sail upon the pristine azure waters of new worlds, which reflect back to us as we gaze into them, a mesmeric imago of the face of all Humankind & that of its Creator & Sustainer, beaming an incorruptible ray of Hope & Love.
The sweet, burning scourge of Love, Agape, for self, mirrored within the eye of another's kindness & positive regard, illumines the path once more.
There is a gentle yet momentous shift within, a parting of the Red Sea of Pain & Primal Rage pitted against the tides of Truth & Justice.
Yet it is of a substance completely devoid of any color, weight or texture. It is of a fabric organic yet wholly immaterial, ensconcing one within a return to meaning without form.
What is this bliss which surpasseth all understanding which expels demons so parasitically embedded into shoulders for so long shrugged?
What is this force which turns one 'round again, to alight upon the Right, which lifts that unbearable load, carrying one down another road?
The poem wants to be ended. Yet...What still longs to speak?
A voice which still seeks a synthesis, a sublime symbiosis between that simplicity & meekness so expedient & the complexity foreseen.
A doctrine of double affect/effect, & the endless abstractions, & painfully exacting contractions-Can vs. Can't, Will vs. Won't, Do vs. Don't.
The main paradox of the human experience:
To be but not to be, simultaneously.
With so many double-edged swords, you'd think we would have made the cut by now.
In solitary sublime-ment,
I found & claimed once more,
my oppressed & maimed Spirit,
awoken by the gentle caress & whispering
of Nature's surroundings,
so majestic yet graceful
within their complacent reign.
And as the billowing breeze,
stroked the statuesque trees with its
omniscient, wispy fingers,
teasing playfully with my hair,
all innocence was rejuvenated-God was there,
soothing my world-weary Soul,
reminding me of true security & solace & where it lies-
not only within the general revelation
of Nature's divinity & purity,
but through the Immutable Essence
which resides within all
who choose discernment through
the Eye of Truth & Justice,
which always knows, watching over
all mortal sentient beings plagued
by worldly impiety & corruption.
And when we allow this to be,
the only eye through which we come to see,
it shall bring to rightful fruition,
the most sanative rebirth & rehabilitation-
the ultimate Salvation.
I dreamt I incited the Apocalypse with deft concentration of Mind and slight gesture of hand.
And as the waters rose in cresting revolt and the Earth exhaled her last gasp of shuddered indignation, all of Creation-that of God and Man-burst into redeeming inferno, finally seeing all as it truly is, finally seeing all along that it always knew how to bleed-how to be.
And as the weeping and gnashing of the world reached synchronous pentameter, and sleep gently washed over my head, I became no longer eminent-perched perilously & vertiginously above it all, but found myself standing unscathed & yet utterly Alone.
From thenceforth I knew only of a disembodied, vacuous silence as my human kin ran about in screeching, cathartic pandemonium, and I stood, so Stoic, so disaffected by all but the actual depth & force of my Rage.
A heartbeat tripping all over itself. A breath, ragged & jagged with the Ambivalence of that ancient, primordial longing to striate two irreconcilable worlds with equal devotion.
Thus must we continually ask:
Which "sanity" is Madness and which deemed "insanity" is true sanity?
And yet the Madness lies in the need to pause upon the question itself, as that which is most natural again bears the indignities of being forced so unnaturally into manifestation.
For this is where the boundaries between that earthly Gehenna and that damnation Eternal become so blurred that Heaven above merges with them inciting an existential alchemical catalyst of Epic proportions, as the "knowing" becomes even more difficult to separate from the Being.
And until we no longer need to pause with maladroit front upon the Question: Which sanity is Madness & which Madness is sane? and have breached a genuine desire & disposal to answer fully, to each our own, and can finally see the wellness inherent in all worlds and their inquiries of exigency, healing & rejuvenation cannot be synthesized.
And yet the memory of Heaven will still remain just strong enough-an eidetic engram ever freshly & indelibly imprinted upon the fine, permeable membrane of the Soul.
And the sweetest Paradox of them all, is how the knowledge of Heaven & Hell here on earth makes our mortal tenure so harrowing, yet the memory of Heaven & Hell hereafter makes the Cause of Heaven on earth all the more immanent and felicitously sought.
And the Edenic scene shall fade out none-too-harshly, when we no longer need pause upon anything, seeing equal cogency & relevance in both Answer and Question.
Like the scald of the hot iron tells us to pull away,
The pain, where it instructs most,
reminds us to stay,
No suffering is illegitimate until it is spurned,
As no healing can be wrought,
until by Nature's yielding, it is earned.
I awaken once more to abysmal Despair, the source of which is unknown yet nevertheless very real to me. My Anguish exceeds any efforts to conceal it, and I remain yet another casualty to the crude militaristic embattlements of Ecclesiastical Realism. Everything sinks in, compelled by an infinite thirst for the bittersweet, intoxicating wine of The Inscrutable.
Hope, for some lies in Certainty, for others, in Enigma.
For the science of fact, is painfully, untactfully exact.
And yet the Scientology of Fiction, is a much coveted affliction-cure for the root of all ills, when Passion sleeps & stoic resignation, further stills.
Sensations of Pain seize over those of Pleasure,
As the human mind,
Rarely ceases to find,
The seaweed before the Treasure.
Why must we shoot popcorn kernels at the crescent moon, when we know that Salvation is truly the taming of inertia by an inside force?
For what is at rest shall remain at rest through our own will.
And this is so, too, when formulating loneliness and the irredeemable Gravitas that we are all encumbered by.
Yet we still seek a kindred galaxy, denying the fact that we are all truly lone stars.
And when we manage to come to grips with the cruel persistence of such Solipsistic insurgence we cry out:
Shall Eternity be thicker than Time, why must we feel so betrayed?
And when there is no tangible seed with which to fertilize the Soul, a kind of psycho-spiritual parthenogenesis occurs, and thus is born from the barren egg of the Separate Self, the bastard progeny of the Disunified Essence, wreaking havoc & Chaos across the Galaxies of Solipsis, Pro Bono & Primum Mobile.
And even knowing of the fragility of the Time-Space Continuum, which some call Fate-others, Destiny or Divine Providence, we neglect that of our own-and it soon abandons us, as our lives become ruled by the painfully exacting laws of all non-commutable equations, as all nevertheless continues on a three-hundred and sixty degree axis, what goes 'round, coming 'round again and again to meet at a moot point, the synthesis of Realism & Idealism failing to come to fathomable fruition.
For only when the taming of inertia from within begins, can we be brought to full-quarter revolution, so that the laws of Nature's splendid design, and the existential metaphysics of the mortal human experiment may prime the organism for Gradualism, as old vestiges no longer self-preservatory, are phased out day by precious day by the inevitable laws of Psycho-Spiritual Evolution-that which will defy all Logic as it proves one fine day with meta-scientific surety, that what goes up, cannot ever come down, again.
Shall Eternity be thicker than Time,
Why must we feel so betrayed?
Day by day, the not quite moot Maternity/Paternity suit-
The Plaintiff: the materially evidenced abundantly presented.
The Defendant: the circumstantial theoreticals underrepresented.
Now, the dire disunity of the jury,
as it is faced with a much higher impunity-
The Verdict is in: no further need for fury,
The case is dismissed, gavel & wood colliding,
At the provident hand of the Honorable Faith presiding.
Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of Doubt-I shall fear only this: Faithlessness.
For the rod & staff of no god can comfort thee in the face of this, the Dracul of all Hope & Mortal Transcendence, ever in search of the blood of earthly saints-that rich liquid gold of the reverent & noble, whom hath erected of their souls, impenetrable temples of diamond, onyx, lapis lazuli & mother-of-pearl.
Might I become one of these, Oh My God, so that Thy rod and Thy staff might comfort me, and that I may be guided to the stillest waters & the greenest pastures, forsaking all else which beckons me from the other side.
For Thy dwelling, despite its nearest proximity to the staunchest peril & open fire, nevertheless remains the safest dwelling, where the encompassing skies whisper a Joyous Lament.
For my own mortal human strength is my gravest danger & crippling weakness, but Thou restoreth the fatally aggrieved human Psyche with the priceless, sacrosanct salve of the high noon of Day, where Reason & Devout Circumspection may be exalted to their utmost peaks of Dynamism, and the Mind's Eye may gaze fully upon the Son, wincing only in the face of all clouds of metaphysical plunder & pillage, which are wrought by the devastating precipitation of our cardinal heritage, which cast their long shadows over the Temple of the Soul, as we pray that we might come to comprehend Thy Meaning, Oh Lord, in that we may mean the Struggle-which so often leads to the Struggle's end.
And once more, can I see, both Cause & Remedy, so sweetly ensconced within The Mystery, and hear so clearly resonant throughout the new-found hospice of Reunification, the song of I & Thou, Oh God.
New skins not yet broken in-
Oh how easy it would be to slip back into the old,
well-worn familiar one, where I could still en-cloak myself
within the velveteen delusion that the world still fits me as I fit myself.
But that cloth of identity has become all-too thread-bare,
allowing the Soul to seep too freely through the merely 'seems' suitable.
Thus, what shall I wear?
Neither here nor there?
What will my visage don?
The mask of Erstwhile or Bygone?
To ask the questions or to live them?
To receive the answers or to give them?
To feud with Day and ally by Night?
Or steer 'round the way from Sorrow & Plight?
To preserve Innocence at the potential cost of Survival?
Or to make Life your Lover & no longer your Rival?
To love to Hate for mere Hate's sake?
Or love only to love, stunning Hate right at the Gate?
To lose to win, or win to lose?
Or see only "good" or "bad" in whatever you choose?
To live whilst ye are young?
Or risk remaining, tragically unsung?
To mate like the Swan or flit to and fro like the Honeybee?
To fully commit to each new Dawn?
Or cavort in the Gloaming for Eternity?
To speak only with words sparing yet true?
Or let loose at every turn with a loquacious slew?
To jump impudently into impartial affusion?
Thus riddling the Mind and taxing the Soul with such hasty conclusion?
What will we each do, of these aforementioned ways to go?
Whose noose, the Devil's or our own, will we sow?
Hope and Love are symptoms of the same wellness.
Slowly but surely, we begin to remember our deficiency, no longer feeling so benign, idiopathic.
Slowly we begin to feel again-hence to truly be, to truly live.
We all wish to be granted a gentle, gradual coaxing bloom, like that of a rose which knows only of its own splendid Design, and that it is best nurtured by Sunlight.
Yet we too, no matter how rough-hewn our Journey, are always a part of that rose, which has so patiently slept by and drunken in the waters of that endless reservoir of tears, fears and all of the years no longer wept, for we have already, learned to accept.
Overwhelmed by Joy's sanguine mass,
knowing all is well that begins well,
yet the peevish prospect of Joy's inevitable annihilation
time and again throttles the Mind full-force forth
unto the cold, void Cosmos
of Pessimistic Ponderance-
this rocket tank always full-full then full-on-empty,
as the discontinuity yet uniformity
of time-space happenings bids
to keep the universe
ever so slightly yet intractably tilted
at an adjacent angle to Fate, Infinity-
the centrifuge of Reason to hold the innards intact,
as Time & Tide bid to keep secret,
the outcome of Felicity, which whirls
within its own painfully discrete realm,
inviting all who dare to embrace its yellow-hole pull,
with expansive Soul & arms,
a quantum mass to plunder all within its enthrall,
into the divinely deviant depths of Oblivion,
until the time has come again
to bid reverence to that faithful constant and saturnine Melancholia:
The voyage is complete.
We have landed from infinite light years away
to kiss the terra firma of human mortality
and its lachrymose constancies,
as we bid the profound Cycle of Life keep turning,
so that one day, all may be brought to Eternal Transcendence.
Love floods the desiccate crevices of the atrophic Heart, and the Soul is once more saturated with the superencumbrant, almost unbearable weight of True Freedom & Life once more.
And how we always feel so foolish when we realize just how much we've missed in fearing it and shutting it out.
But we can also now see just how much it has missed and so needed us-for this is a raison d'etre intractably interdependent.
And it's almost as if, all of the times we were without Love, never really existed at all, but were perhaps mere spurious projections to keep us preoccupied until we returned to our true Home once again.
And what faithfully prodigal Sons & Daughters we all are, indeed.
And perhaps no world outside of the Matrix Of Love is our true dwelling place.
Although these "other" worlds do seem to have an omnipresence all too undeniable.
But this "two-worlds apart" dialectic menacingly persists only when we resist them, or attempt to fully inhabit them both simultaneously with equal fervor and devotion.
For the human Soul cannot serve two antithetical masters and neither can the Body or the Mind.
Hence the age old inquiry of What is Real? rears its cantankerous head again.
Is it to be found within an embrace of that consensually objective world of sharply demarcated Logic & Linearity?
Or is it to be found within the embrace of that world perceived only through the sentient organs of Intuition & Subjectivity?
For we are admonished that, although both do indeed coexist, only one is relevant.
Furthermore, it seems to me that the state in which we most deeply and authentically connect with Love, is anything but linear, logical, disaffective or impersonal.
For as of yet, no provisions have been made for any Metaphysically-employed scientists, and Love hurts just as much-if not more acutely-than any purely "physical" malady or affliction.
And indeed, perhaps the Eastern mystics are right, that our Universe cannot and does not have any actual ontological bearing in the absence of human consciousness itself.
And to play upon the philosophical anecdote:
If but one lone soul stood in a forest where no tree fell, would they not still hear, see, smell, and feel something?
For indeed, even one Consciousness alone is capable of a wondrous infinitude of Imagination & Dynamism with which to construct any world of its choosing.
And may believe this to be the Ultimate act of Love-the act of Creation.
Even simpler and more basic than that, lies the desire to merely be alive & share of oneself with the world-essence preceding existence, the thing-in-itself being sufficient unto itself.
For being itself is an act of both Love & Mercy insofar as we remain open and free to return Love's energy, thus contributing to the cycle of Ultimate Law & Order.
Moreover, at some point I suppose we all ponder the possible superior virtue and naturalistic nobility to be found in an embrace or a surrender to Chaos & Opposition, as projected within the Rousseau-esque imago of "the Noble Savage."
And many physicists specify that what we have come to view as "chaos" or "entropy" does not truly reign like we think it does.
Perhaps there is order on all levels-macrocosmic and microcosmic.
Perhaps it is just "order of an infinite complexity" at least in regards to the inherent limitations of human sight.
I think we are all learning that the purpose of any paradox or strife is not necessarily sadistically intent upon the infliction of mere pain or strife.
And indeed, in accordance with most views, strife and suffering are seen as an evolutionary tool available to us to employ not merely on a biological level but also on a psycho-spiritual one as well.
Perhaps it all exists merely for the pure sake of existing, and our task is to more finely hone the fine existential Art of Being.
Perhaps non-resistance to the natural Design & order of things contains the key to the portal of all heavenly realms.
And perhaps Evil is all that manifests itself in an attempt to blind us to this Truth, and all which seeks to interfere with the natural wisdom inherent in all things.
And, as many quantum mystics posit, perhaps all spiritual phenomena manifest themselves on a subatomic level, which parallels the Judeo-Christian belief in "unseen principalities."
But no matter what language we couch things in, no matter how we conceptualize in order to better comprehend the mysteries of this human condition and experience, I believe there to be an absolute, ultimate truth & reality underlying such word & mind-play.
In the end, the only danger perhaps does lie within each individual Heart & Mind.
And hopefully someday we will come to accept this with more finality.
Until then, we must contend with the classically bifurcate Mind & Heart, as we continue on our Journey to learn how to more efficaciously navigate this labyrinthine, hazardous laboratory of existential quantum mechanics, which also follows its own uncertainty principle, while keeping lucidly within our Soul's Mind's Eye, both a prescience and a sentience towards the highest and noblest objectives of our human species.
And perhaps, should we manage this experiment with sufficient reverence and competence, there will someday be no more "collapses of the wave function" to anticipate, no more photons or other matter/matters to let "propagate in isolation"-therefore isolating in vacuous propagation, no more Schrodinger's cats to diligently care for beyond their care of us, no more quantum hypotheses to perplex and dizzy ourselves with.
And perhaps someday there will be no more "constants" to establish, as we will have finally learned how to live and love within the Universe we've already got-and thus will see that our questions were always and already, fully answered-and that the true subjects of experimentation, were us.
Father forgive us, for we haven't yet recovered from the last Fall.
There is a point where Hope & Exultation merely converge to meet their utmost peak of apogee within the cruelly fixed lines and blunt curves of an unorthodox, Gothic architecture of Despair & Ambivalence.
In the beginning, God looked out over His Creation and declared it all good.
And yet-then Evil entered into the picture, and Good very quickly became yet another something to kill for, the hands of neither Martyr nor Pacifist coming clean.
Father forgive us, for we may never recover from any Fall.
We confesseth ye with our mouths and Yea!
We are saved!
But must we endure each moment as if we were damned?
We wish to no longer bear the weight of this faltering, the shock of this trembling.
Nihilo sanctum estne?
Where is our Soul?
Where has it gone?
We are open vessels.
We only pray that the wrong spirit does not enter into us.
Fighting it has come to naught.
But must we lie with the devil to bear the seeds of our own Redemption?
Our own Rebirth?
Which came into being first-Heaven or Hell?
Or is there still only the Void, teeming with infinite possibilities?
Is it indeed, our free will & choice?
If this is so, Heavenly Father, help us to believe in ourselves as You so evidently believe in us. Amen.
The blood toils in longing the Mind fills with rage for wont of infinitely wronging the false righteousness of the cage.
1/3 of the sea of the seventh seal one day will bleed as the breath of all Life turns to poison he slaves of The Beast will continue to breed-Satan final exert of foison.
And those who have lived under virtuous restraint will be exalted in immortalization in the new bodies granted them-pure & without taint as God grants a final cessation-the beginning of a new End, never to be known again.
We all long to lose ourselves within sanctified Madness, loosening our Mind's tenacious grip upon this World.
For only in what this world falsely deems Insanity, are we truly free.
Our senses have grown weary from the constant barrage of the Profane & the Arcane from day to day.
We see everything yet feel nothing.
We gluttonously clamor to taste of everything, but the Soul's tongue has grown coarse & numb.
We hear everything, yet do not quite get its meaning.
We long to smell everything sweet & rich, and yet remain insensate to all but the malodorous.
We long to feel the Sun gently caress our flesh with its warmth, like the sweet, resuscitating breath of God Himself, and long to feel the Wind lightly brushing our skin like the wings of Angels, yet merely feel this same Sun burn a hole right through us, and the Wind thrash us relentlessly amok.
We live in a time of Extremes and Excess and yet remain seemingly emptied of all Sentience.
Where is our Soul?
Where has it gone?
Perhaps it too, has retreated from the portent of our extirpation.
And yet the pain has become so constant to us that it is our only salve-ation.
Yet more often than not, we are stirred no more by this than by anything else.
We no longer glimpse of the face of God- we can merely chase shadows, an exercise in Sisyphean futility.
We are no longer imbued with His Spirit.
We have grown lukewarm and He has spat us out of His mouth.
Will we grow hardened & thickened beyond malleability?
For the inner sanctum of the human spirit must remain undesecrated, insofar as it is, indeed "the Kingdom of Heaven dwelling within" us.
Yet we still lie asleep & dreaming upon the laps of Insolence & Indifference.
We must weigh the costs and decide which world to commit ourselves to His, or the one in which we currently toil.
For unless we do, our infidelity will run amok and we will bear the perpetual penance of these Sins Of Omission.
For as long as we remain tempted to wed the World Of Illusion & Depravity, while we lust in our Spirit's after His, we will serve two antinomial masters.
Will we heed the warning that it is better to marry one World than to burn with Lust for others?
Which world will we choose, each for ourselves?
Perhaps we must rather glory therefore, in our existential infirmities, that the power of Christ may rest upon us.
To never allow life to dissect us is to risk never being assembled just right.
Integration thrives upon fleeting yet profound moments of disintegration.
That which desires true Unity must first allow fragmentation to assert its form & force, so that Psyche, the Master Sculptor, may bring to fruition the personage it envisages within the Realm Of Divine Projections.
An overripe fruit falls to the ground as rusted pages of coffee-stained Sanskrit loosed from a fig tree, whirl wild, reckless, shimmying & free up to blackening skies, after knocking the fallen fruit into a barren cave that long ago served as a tomb where only the living dwelt, waiting to give death to birth.
A black crow nearby with a broken wing descends upon the tiny, broken carcass of a decomposing dove as lightning flashes above, frightening the crow away where it seeks shelter beneath a weather-beaten bench that was crafted by the callused hands of a bearded man with the flogged flesh of a tree which stood bleeding sap near a plantation many storms ago.
Another rancid fruit falls to the ground as a peal of thunder shakes the earth, and the dove, unravaged by the crow, suddenly begin to tremble, composing itself back to its state of former animation as a rattlesnake winds its scaly body against a mossy rock outside the barren cave, shedding its skin in one shiver.
Suddenly, the rusted pages of coffee-stained Sanskrit emerge from the pit in the beak of the dove, as the snake strangulates the branch of a fig tree, hissing & striking at the wind, which has taken the form of a woman, welded into the air by the smoking ashes of now incinerated pages, feathers of a crow and resurrected seeds, swirling up to the sky, wild reckless, shimmying & free.
The cores of the barren fruit hurl themselves into the dark, moist womb of the tomb where serpents now gestate & dwell, waiting to give birth to death.
How does one fight an enemy that is oneself without incurring any casualties?
But perhaps all things must die in that they may live.
For truly there is no Creation, only Annihilation assuming many forms, Life is Death as Death is Rebirth, a continual Requiem.
The elegy has been sung, we merely lie await within the desanctified Tomb of this earthen expanse.
It makes one wonder what we will call The Final Awakening?
Or will we never know that we have been sleeping?
Depth is the Soul trembling are the loins blood fills the bowl disassembling where the Mind conjoins.
Flighty is the Spirit futile the Heart's retreat for in the disquietude of Felicity we fear it will drown Melancholia's constant beat.
Infinity is our quest Conceit is our Bane so we battle for Humility lest we come to know Insane.
Fear is our loathing Faith is our lack so we grievously seize no thing as we covet the night of black.
Bitterness we taste upon our mortal tongue as we see others' faces cringe our song of Love yet unsung such inner Hell & corrosive singe.
Meager is the cost Mediocrity, the petty profit what Passion born at rebirth is lost the still, barren Womb of Apathy to scoff it.
Unity is The Cause yet alienation, the effect upon the precipice we pregnantly pause the fragility of Courage we accept to reject.
Serpentine is the Mind's curve vicious is the Vein judicious is the gavel of the Nerve ever pernicious, the bane.
Symphonic is the Longing's song genius prone the Have-not's phrasing erratic pulsates the Heart's Hand's grasp so strong yet all-too-subtle is Nature's phasing.
Chilling is the fever brittle is the bone arthritic are the hands of the Weaver as the Noose is sown.
Vacuous is the Void raging the Inner Scream elusive is the Inscience of the Embryoid cruelly evasive, the Cathartic Dream.
A wasteland of bodies rough-hewn, strewn & writhing
upon shag-carpeted plains
of shattered & splattered Vice-
beer, sweat, semen, blood & tears, unassauged fears
misread in the screaming head
as blurred words once so clear now absurd.
The ashtrays are overrun with the lipstick-kissed remnants
of cigarettes and roaches-
butts once aflame with the frenzied zeal of
surrogate Motherhood/Fatherhood,
now burnt clean down to each grubby stub.
The Godfather of Reason stands idly by,
bemusing himself of all of this,
for his seed is no longer in season,
given way to Malcontent-
his Heaven-sent so Hell-bent on eluding the grasp
as the mundane senses taunt and mock-
stop at the drop of anything, everything & nothing all at once.
Hope lounges lackadaisically upon the divan,
dreaming of a world where everything is as it seems,
and where everyone's drug of choice
is the Rolls Royce of true Freedom's voice-
which always inquires of each its own:
Why seek to atone through more of the same sin Thou hast known?
Intuition hovers above, waxing & waning in ghastly glassy whisper:
Be ever Maternal to that which lies internal.
For it is Intuition which most clearly sings
in Morse Code pitch & meter of the Soul's impending inferno,
and the Mind's perpetual betrayal,
wrought of that harrowing narrowing to get straight,
in the face of the safeguarding of those Pandoraean floodgates.
A hot eclipse of desperation descends like a depraved moon,
in slicing, adept, devious crescent, burning out the eyes
of the too-eagerly-effervescent-those who mock
with subtle yet smug, squinty grin,
others not so akin to more than Despair & Chagrin,
whose hearts are ever on gross display, ever shifting,
disassembling in kaleidoscopic disarray-
the role of Scapegoat they must master to play,
as their vulnerability fumbles with maladroit front upon their sleeves.
And what is the reward for such stoic candour offered
to these out-of-their-elements devotees?
Perhaps it can be found in the armour
which such clairvoyance & lucidity & congruency of being lends.
For they are alieni generis, and they read the writing on the ceiling
like the thunder reads the storm, with such sure, scientific measures
of displeasure-as more of that knowledge which wants to be forgotten,
stacks up like fool's treasure.
A young girl slowly stirs herself into noncommitant motion
as she rambles about in fumbling, mumbling,
quixotic gait towards the bathroom door,
as if this affectation of "holding it all in", was not twin brother to her sin.
The young girl now claps her hand to her head, which is glowing red, still unfed.
In strained, feigned sing-songey cadence she sings her thoughts aloud:
"Now-what-is-it-I'm-looking-foooooorrrr?" as if anyone but she has the answer.
She lights up a Salem menthol, breathing in again this living-life-for-death-supporting poison bearing the classic Cheshire grin,
of one who only knows how to lose to win.
She then throws herself into the ever open yet rigid arms
of an old Arabesque chair, peering out over the others
whose bodies lie toilsomely inert, as they are heavy
with the blasphemous irreverence of such casual prayer,
yet another displacement of care, spawned by a Despair
& a feigned Indifference that have even grown lukewarm.
She now exerts a sigh of labored attention,
trying to convince herself again that she is out of her element-
even here, where it is most assured that no-one cares
who or what one is trying to be or not to be.
She rises up from her abstract yet well-delineated position in space,
a raging tiger in her own Rorschach blot,
leaving the others to find each their own way back
to the sanctified Insanity of the so-called "real world",
as one by one, they will lose Truth again within
the dazzling psychonography of star-spangled banners
yet waving against the grimly prim backdrop
of ostentatiously understated suburban lawnscapes.
The young girl now walks on, passing the flags which litter
this dystopic cul-de-sac, as they unfurl in the wind like the livid tongue of God,
as the Sons & Daughters of the Western bourgeoisie go on regaling
their tall tales of worldly conquest, which always seem to fall
so short of the mark of their proclaimed Cause.
For this is mere green-backed venom for the masses,
in keeping with the fine art of projection, as they come
to hate themselves for those Virtues deemed Sins-
Sins deemed Virtues,
as they deprive themselves of the need & right
for freedom from such subversive conformity-
as they long to gather at the feet of the Ultimate
like the soporific, intoxicating sweetness of Agape Love
felt & given with unsurpassed, unfettered Joy & Bliss.
For this destitute life has bestowed upon all of us
an endless wealth of impoverishment,
wrung from that true & abiding enrichment wrought
by what can be gotten out of that which has been denied.
For in the face of all of this, there is only one true revolutionary act:
The diligent choice to embrace voluntary Truth-
despite the earthly indignities & indigence it affords us,
rather than to become filthy rich for the pandering & pushing of Lies.
For there is another adage that is commonly wise:
Heroes come in many 'a guise.
Stars appear to continue to burn brightly long after
they have given of their last supernovae gasps.
Yet soon, even their light will leave our eyes,
to be replaced by new uncertain certainties,
as we try our damnedest to reach superluminosity
so that we might someday
catch up with it all.
Yet we will merely continue to fall pitifully by the wayside every time,
mere remnants of more lost momentum born from that search
for the illusory Then, and When-whose real name is "Never"
for there is only "Now."
Now. The sweet loaf of Life to be spit
from the lukewarm mouths of babes,
leaving only bitter crumbs of status quo dough
to collapse into themselves in seemingly
infinite singularity and implosive concentricity,
until yet another hungry hand plunges
into the teeming Void with such psuedo-scientific dexterity.
Yet now the Void is merely left rippling,
having been incited of that trusty old phenomenon
of interference, where the answers all lie hidden
in proofs-universal & solipsistic.
So, we leave it all neglectfully propagating in isolation-
isolating with propagation-
to the quantum selection of where one is standing,
and how fast one is going, and in what direction,
and why...ad infinitum...ad nauseum.
Perhaps only in our physical deaths will
we feel the sweet, synchronous embrace of Time & Being.
Perhaps only then will we know the secret dance of each and every particle, macrocosmic, microcosmic and beyond...
Death-this seemingly detrimental determination which we regard with so much Fear & Trembling-
there is only Freedom and true Life in it.
Yet for now, let us renew our sacred Vow:
"These are my molecules, take of them and do whatever it is You do, Oh Great Creator of Cosmos & Consciousness. I donate body, mind and spirit to Science.
The Science of the search for the proof that can be seen only after it is no longer needed. And then, the Light shall be unceasing."
The Ecclesiastical Eye of lachrymose reasoning evenly takes in the full measure of this life, never stopping at nothing-even where the Ideal is so relentlessly fallen short of.
Although it seems that Despair has become an all-too-familiar bedfellow, as Voids ring with a resonance, tuning the Essence to taut tremor while the Mind struggles to escape the Song Unsung, and the Heart's rhythm fails to keep the beat of an ever-meandering pentameter.
Thus it always comes to this: Between Being & Nothingness lies longing, a sin of costly omission.
Maintaining my jeopardy.
To enjoy hating as much as loving to love.
The human heart will never be pure in the toxic mire of such contradictions.
The only mercy offered is that pseudo-absolution found within the viscerally possessive enthrall of Apathy.
For here, it is bearable, almost to the point where mind, body and soul become whole, feel at home at last.
This is the main concern:
the darkness frees.
We see not.
We are not seen.
Or perhaps, we are seen all the more, hence our preferential dwelling is explained.
The light blinds with questions all too answer ready.
What should we be?
Where we have been?
Or where we are?
For here, we are intractably seen as all but what we are.
The road less traveled is not even a road but a rail, with much less margin for error-but not injury.
Yet the path often followed is both our mediocre triumph and thus lies at the heart of our terror.
For life is so much harder when you believe in Heaven and Hell, and immaterial actualities such as salvation and damnation.
For we did not ask to be born a creature of such fire and sadism.
We did not ask to be born the only creature given a choice, who still will not go unscathed by rebuke and disowning at the hands of our Creator, like watching a beautiful thing, dying in mortifying perpetuity.
Daddy beat her senseless because he so loved her and wanted to bestow upon her, the privilege of being taught, the upright way to limp, which he was so denied by the blindly obedient militarism of generations past.
Mommy expects nothing less than the utmost best from him, for she must redeem herself from the chains of her own private shame.
We are not our elders’ pride but their scapegoats.
And thus we can only hope that God judges us in a different way, for if not then it will really hit home just how much better we could have been without cause for dissent, as we could know all along just how futile these struggles.
Yet this is another paradox: the one of survival vs. thrivance-and how sometimes jeopardy must be maintained, to salvage the last scraps of dignity from the garbage can.
The way in, is no way out.
The way out? Is way in.
Believe me, there is no such thing as mortal transcendence-such big words for such scant potential of ever possessing anything more than insipid connotation.
But, the sooner ye confesseth these words with your mouth, the more ye can potentially be saved.
Freedom is negation.
To be free, is to be willingly, bound.
Just for once, to throw caution to the wind, to let the heart beat, at its own true pace-thundering and allegro, to cut myself open at my core, letting the blood run to every sea and every river-the mind, reasonably past all bounds, tamed not even by the snares of Fear’s vast wilderness, clinching the Achilles’ heel of the soul in gripping, merciless tenacity.
But if only Virtue and Joy could relate to Fear and Sorrow, then perhaps would the heart know the ways to quell them, and the mortal soul, finally meet its noblest cause, that indefinable thing which keeps it tied to the earth and its promises of transcendence and live for it, until transcendence is finally seen for what it truly is and has been, all along-Being right here, right now.
Sometimes Eternity is weighed in most measurably upon the wings of a singular moment, finding its most poignant expression in the wake of all Ecclesiastical realization:
We are never so alone as when we are stricken deaf, dumb & mute in our most common coherence;
And that we are never so rejuvenated as when tended by the metaphysicians of Disease & Despair.
Yes, sometimes the ever immanent sense of one's own nihility, in a world of negligence & broken dreams is the one thing, in the end, which spurs a Soul ever onward towards Epektasis-towards that of its truest & fullest actualization, wholeness & perfection.
How then can an entity as enriched as a Soul feel thus so vacuous, so futile, so impoverished?
Perhaps this feeling then, is what we have come to call “Time”, for most things seems to equate more to a “feeling” or an ephemeral glimpse of experience, both external & internal, rather than to concrete, “actual” objects & subjects that we can hold-even fleetingly.
Perhaps all which truly exists is best classified into the taxonomy of thought alone?
Perhaps all we are-perhaps all that is, is an infinite & glorious manifestation of the mind of God, dreaming in perpetuity?
For what is declared & sanctified as “real” by the clean-shaven bards of Positivism, in all of its actual cynical negativism, housed as they are within the flaccid skin of the Body Politic, is ultimately what begs all of these question concerning the “immaterial”.
Ah! So then, have we always known all along, that there is no such thing as “meaninglessness”-and even Despair?
That there is no Rosetta Stone that will not be bled with an ever-flowing spring of Truth & Life Eternal, so long as it is struck square & resonant upon its most fracturable fissures?
A recovering Soul's awakening must be well-paced,
'Though no measure of convalescence,
its full burden can erase.
The darkness begins to seep into the cracks,
A gain merely subtracting from what one abundantly lacks,
To walk while one has the light,
Soon brings one 'round 'gain to fright,
Such a defeatist triumph of never-ending plight,
Surely ascension poises for Eternity
on the tensional momentum of such drawbacks.
I will not let another walk all over me.
I will not let another walk beneath me;
But I will let another walk with me.
I will not offend; I will not even defend;
Yet I will work to amend.
I will not live with pious revelation.
I will not even live with strong conviction;
But I will live with quiet faith & understanding.
I will speak my Mind with circumspect reservation.
I will speak my Heart with dignified preservation.
I will not examine my folly with a condemning eye;
But I will confess it with a fully repentant will.
I will judge not only on my own percipience;
But I will intuit with the Soul's eye of acquiescent sentience.
But most of all today, of my desiderata:
I will make the sincerest effort to extend myself in love to others.
But first & foremost, even above all others, will I love myself.
For this is the deep, eternal well from which all true sustenance flows.
https://www.lulu.com/shop/valerie-stephens/tempus-et-aestu/paperback/product-1ng7jr6m.html?page=1&pageSize=4
