not much more

There is a sound a cracking heart makes. A snapping. A shutter clicking. It doesn't exist if no one hears - until it spreads. & the other organs crack. Gut follows, then liver and lung. Mind is last to go, but oh does it shatter. Deep crevasse, unpassable by spirit or soul.

It is a wretched thing to be joyful and sad. Peaceful and demolished. Yet they can occur together. The firsts are deep, the seconds are wide. The self is scattered and the future is obtuse. I cannot make this life, yet I can end it. I cannot touch the future, yet it can rob me.

I am at peace and I am at war. A quiet, hardy war. The paradox of peaceful violence is fruit of every truth. Only the taught string sings. Too loose and it fumbles, too tight and it snaps. Like the heart. Like the shutter. Paradox supplies the tension for harmony and discord, the animating energies.

We taught sand to think, metal to fly, men to kneel. What more is possible? What is hidden among the stars? I am here for a little while and a little while longer. Purpose will fill my days.

There have been many old men with many wise things to say. Many young men with daring behaviors on display. There is no discrete soul. Each flows. Brook to brook, deep to deep.

Cotton fills my mouth, I do not wish to speak anymore. My words become violent of their own accord. They are changed midair to be received other than intended. Truly, loose lips guarantee foolhardiness. I will be quiet so I can be wise. I will be quiet to restrain from evil. I wish my tongue to be removed.

I have acquired and tasted each worldly good and they lack substance.

Getting to the soul of things.

My eternal task.

I have not become who I wished. I am a disappointment to every past version of myself. I feel a weak dunce incapable of basic existence. I push away love. I reject comfort. I drink poison.

Yet, I'm me.

At least I'm still here.

That is much to receive.

And so I am grateful.

All is well.

With my soul.

Lord,

You are.

I do not comprehend this.

& I will not ever.

I will not ask for ease.

I will not ask for satiation.

Ruin me with truth.

Lay waste to my flesh.

Pull me under.

Joe,

Do not worship the gate.

Enter into the inner sanctum.

It is through union, not learning, that the spirit is known.

Words are shallow and their meanings have changed.

You walk a path alone.

Accept your burden and move as you are able.

I see the narratives of the faithful. They are wonderful.

The Buddhist & the apologist - each self-contained.

The religion of the poor reaches crisis when all are rich.

I am not meant to be only me.

There is a higher coordination and consciousness to be lost in.

Rather, to be found in.

It is not the cessation of self, but the fulfillment.

Each day is a new journey to that holy place.

There is no system that will not bow before Him.

No theology that fully contains.

No eschatology that belongs.

It is not simple to be in the hometown. I love my people and I am empty. And they do not see. I do not either.

Humbled and disgraced, I request wholeness. If I am to be the lowliest of psyches, grant me intactness... I cannot bear both.

Dilapidated man I am.

No potential for renovation.

I worry for my selves - that the wrong one takes the reins. & makes permanent that which should be fleeting.

Life is fleeting.

The days are evil.

If the light in you is darkness, how great is that darkness.

I beg to be free.