his very own children



And after reading it,
I remembered all the countless moments
of unspeakable meaning I discovered there,
so far down, so suppressed and so forgotten.

And I remembered all the unfathomable experiences
along that particularly frightful and disorienting path,
and all the psyche-shattering moments which blinded my sight
along that darkest leg of that journey when all the lights went out,
when all was black, and the silence was screaming.

And I remembered all I learned and all I heard and saw,
all the steps and stumbles in those deep dark depths
and all the places and prisons my feet walked past
(and about which I perhaps shall never find words)
and all the peoples and faces unto whom this lesson
so lovingly, so forcefully, so gracefully took me unto
and through,
ravaging me
all the way.

My veins crack with lightning.

And I remember them all, each and every one, and
like some long-lost father from a far-off and forgotten family,
they all feel as my kin now, resonating in my bones,
my DNA dancing and burning the blood with fire;
and each relates back to me the deep somatic knowing
of this present, identifiable moment as something set apart, holy.

And I become shaken:
how unfathomably,
unspeakably SACRED
this all is, and, at the same time,
how unbelievably, inexplicably,
uncomfortably TERRIFYING
this all is as well.

(And perhaps this is the point)

To “behold”
the “glory”
of what could ever be called,
on any level of description,
that childishly-rendered grapheme
and its equally-inn-adequate fun-sized fail-safe
“the universe”….

Little children,
be careful what you wish for;
you just might end up getting it.
My eyes have seen; and because
my eyes have seen, I am held responsible.

Truth is a balmy blaze of fire.

The scriptures were right:
truly indeed it is a FEARFUL thing
for a “mortal” to fall into the hands
of something, anything, whose meaning could ever be rightly rendered as “All-Mighty.”

And perhaps this is just one reason
why it is said in all those old stories
that men, whenever following their path
(or running away from it…)
can come to a place where the road they walk
crosses and meets upon the highway of the gods;
here, they almost always fall upon on their faces
in awe
in fear
in worry
in wonder
and (almost always)
all of them,
all at once.

(Compare & contrast this with women in The Book, mind you;
see for yourself what valuation is given to them by watching
how their reactions are framed and recorded by the pen teller)

In the end, only the Devil remains standing,
He and His alone, and all the more happy to be so,
thrilled to continue his rape of Eve’s dark shadow,
conceiving Divine Indifference and improginatlng
His own divine immaculate conception of Hell,
ever alive and living oh-so-very well indeed,
seeded among the Earth in countless forms
and living especially well-fed among the oh-so-
high-and-mighty moral mortals on planet Earth.

And the ones who say
they are free and right
while making men slaves
beneath their own height
are His very own children. 

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