love letter from the pit

Somewhere between What If and Ash Ave

My heart was changed,

and given away.

All faded into unknown.

That blackness nested.

I no longer I.

And the pain.

Oh the pain!

Precious turmoil. Exclusive disease. A pampered life

of ease, ruinous at center.

The beginning of knowing is the end of being,

I’ve cascaded unstoppably past myself,

held by the emptied other -

that large life that knows me

and hides.

To come in contact you must bleed. Bleed

from each of your senses. Let each sight

be violence, each touch confluence of irregular

evils. Its the only true path I can make out,

and so I take it. Leaving You behind.

Is it okay to be angry in such a way?

I’ve turned off that voice that whispers shoulds.

I should be me.

It should be it.

This is all I know.

I am unstable and torn. A dirty rag for

dogs to rip and drag.

A fool beyond measure.

Anger draws me to You.

Dark reminds me of You.

How long can You witness my open wounds and stand there?

Yes, You’ve given me much.

No, none of it matters.

Ephemeral. Clogging. Facade.

Only You satisfy.

Satiate this war-torn soul.

Gather your truths. Dismember me with them.

Your voice, that ichor, that gracious brook, bubbling and frothing lucidity.

It is small and hidden and so it is precious.

I cannot bear anything but You, by You I bear everything -

each vertebrae shattered and returned to its original position. Stardust.

Fealty. Evaporated purpose. Can I lasso the particles?

Come home!

Home doesn’t exist any longer.

It is beyond existence.

You must walk in the sand and leave no footprints,

weep and feel no thing.

It is acceptable to be angry, forlorn, pained, saddened, empassioned, tortured,

but it is unforgivable to be apathetic.

To detach is to give up; to become a cosmic antipatriot and devaluer of your own sacredness.

Carry the burdens alotted. Fear and ache. Tremble and dance. There is nothing larger or smaller than you. This is how peace is known.

For peace is war. Justice is empire. No despotism too rigid, no spiritual master too honest.

Make love and melody with your pitiful existence through the tears, for He reigns.

Find the grand projection and burn it.

Everything must have surface, metamorphic necessity!

Who do you create for and why? Why is your art weak?

Nothing stops growing. Everything shrinks.

Your smallness is your bigness, as the convexity and concavity of a curve.

Let no lie usurp your growth.

For we must continually expand - in our childhood into our biological self, in our adolescence into our emotional self, in adulthood into that spiritual self that is no longer self. Each growth, limb, must be sawn off and given away - until most of yourself sojourns without you in the grand desert. Do this and know yourself.

There’s no end or means. All cradles all. The only river is they who curse and ignore fragility.

We are teetering on the edge, frail and sleeping.

Let no man wake us, there is ever more in unconsciousness. Shamanic wisdom, interceding, falling short, glory transjective between states of consciousness.

Universe experiencing itself - Yes! True!

Wave function collapsing like Macedon.

Bucephalus the noble neuron -

detangling the self-obsessed skeptic.

Universe is mother, this is known across

traditions, religions, and dynasties.

Of whose rib did she come?

Ehyeh! Ehyeh! Ehyeh!

Lust after the system, the cycle of being. Be transfixed by the holy robe, James Webb revealing Zion.

Categorize to your heart’s desire, improve the conditions of man, infinite still bursts finite.

Proletariat, then, are You - championing the only cause.

The causeless cause.

Hope of nations. Great author of simulation.

Though You regretted creating us, there is something You see that is worth letting last.

Please do not reject Your son in his meager honesty.

It is all I have.

Praise the One who is One! And all of Your names.

Triumphant unity.

Blessed symmetry.

He who knows.

Fullness of every beginning.

Great inertia and wisdom.

Character of color.

Defiler of perception.

Holy are you Lord,

Amen.

I do not know much of love, but that it grants the will to give and give fully. Love then, without reservation. Eternity will hold you. Rinse mind of the need to be understood as a dirty bowl. Only a used person will hear this word. It is holy to be needy, only the cessationist is cursed. Occupy your own heart and bathe in light, for you are not your own.

Who can survive a broken spirit?!?

Delight in the nearness of God, oh my soul. Your righteousness will go before you and His glory will be your rearguard. When you cry out - He will say “Here I am. I will make you ride over the heights of the land.”

When I cannot see the artistry in the dusty table, the jacket flung across the room, and patient couch waiting for its use, I know I am blinded again. Today I see. Praise the One.