Stream of Consciousness: Watching God in the Night Sky

I realized a while ago, over a year ago that I was out of balance.  I realized that I was attempting to create my own norms in a bizarro world...

a universe that bends upon itself without allowing my galaxy room to breath.  Fallacy.  Dark matter masquerading as a cohesive star system.  Gravity pulls but love invites with no string theory attached.  I couldn't expand.  So I exploded instead...Super Nova.  And my luminous dust will lay as a horizon.

I am.  Home is not where the heart is...my heart is my home.  And if you peered into my window you would see cloven fire in my soul.  Why?  Because a while ago, over a year ago the Elect Lady of Equilibrium told me that my home weighed heavier than her plume.  Contentions.  I separated...I sifted...I let what didn't serve my joy fall away...cascade below.    I still myself at the speed of light.  Ecstasy is upon me.  It travels from my chalice...up my spine...and smiles in the house of the ram.  Meri had a little lamb...sweetly followed her to church one day but it was against the rules.  I laughed and played anyway...hide and Seek.

I consummate with the Sun.  And we become The Apex.  Twinkle, Twinkle...little star...little star...little star.  Like a Diamond...   

"When they saw the star, they were overjoyed.  On coming to the house, they saw the child with his mother Mary, and [the Magi] bowed down and worshiped him."  

~The Book of Matthew 2: 10-11

Losing Henry

When I was a child I had a debilitating fear of the dark.  I was convinced that my room was a doorway for the likes of malicious spirits that desired my untimely demise.  They stood over me with red eyes lurking and seemingly casing my soul.  I was convinced that I could feel the burn of their breath on my neck like a searing blade.  And I was afraid of being severed, losing my head.  And just as my adolescent imagination was running dangerously amuck, teetering on the brink of parallel worlds as my ears entertained disembodied musical refrains in dissonant chords Henry would close the door.  And the music would stop.  And the dragon’s breath upon the nape of my neck would cool as a daytime breeze.  I was safe.  I was cared for with the gentle balm of his fuzzy paw upon my forehead.  He assuaged the craze of my girlish woes, fallen angels and garish ghost.  Henry, my best friend.  Henry, my guardian host called from the ranks of a store shelf to shore up the gap like a seraph standing at the post of life.  Love brought him there...brought him to me.  And one day Love would take him away.

One day Henry was here and then one day he was gone.  My room became warped and ruled by darkness again.  There was no fuzzy paw to bless my head and bar the dimensions of evil imaginings.  There was no one there to sit with me in darkness...sit upright at my bedside.  There was no more floppy eared friend to keep watch for me in the bewitching hours.  There was no one there but me.  And I quickly realized how lonely darkness is when no one else around you is seemingly awake.  I spent most nights wildly evading rest, quivering in a quilted cocoon.  And I did so well into adulthood until I turned the age of thirty-three and willfully decided to peek out, pull the cover from my face and sit up with my shoulders squared at my own bedside - bringing my right hand to my forehead in homage of Henry’s anointing touch.


Thank you Mom and Dad...
Thank you for summoning Henry here to prepare the way.  Thank you for sending him away so that he would not be a stumbling block along the path. Having him allowed me to be comforted, to accept my humanness.  Losing him allowed me to see my truest self as divine.   You gave me a space of my own...a dark room, the room to grow into the knowledge that I am in fact my own light and the illusory power of darkness is revealed in the slaying of fear.  My dear parents, you did not fail me in this.  There is no failure in Love.  Thank you for such a remarkable, wonder working gift...Henry.

“There is no fear in love; but perfect love casteth out fear: because fear hath torment. [She] that feareth is not made perfect in love.” 
 ~First John 4:18

 
     

Stream of Consciousness: Portal to Remembrance

A recurring dream...

I am hiding in a cave.  I am afraid because Nicaea’s Master of Ceremonies has decreed death to all who attempt to shear his rayon wool.  He will eat me alive if I am not careful to stay quiet.  I am still...then I hear the gurgling whispers of a civilization that once found its glory above level of a dark sea.  They are drowning in an abyss of lies but they want me to breathe for them.  They want me to draw them in as life then speak.  I see inside myself.  I have papyrus for bones and in the distance a mob is progressing forward with torches aflame. What they could not submerge in murky water they want to scare with fire.  I see my brother’s charred body running in a forest...they are after me.  My brother runs...and runs.  He is petrified...then rendered brittle and crumbles.  His body scatters and is carried away by the west winds.  The elder wind of the east blows its word in my ear, “When the stars align with the three gates YOU MUST, you must gather up his ashes, stir him as molten, and resurrect the corner stone.  Oh Daughter of Nehemiah, fear encamps about you.  I give you my word of power...SHABAK.”  Its last utterance echoes.  As I run I wonder...If there is no one there to hear me scream among the standing dry rot does it make a sound? 

I am now here in a lair.   Each corner is filled to the brim with cheap California cigars, Freshman's concave footballs, and cut out hearts made from the pressed pulp of pews.  Each ninety degree angle is cluttered with things.  The windows are covered by something red and the doors are whitewashed shut. The something red looks soft but when I make an attempt to push it aside the lead-heaviness nearly consumes me.  I long for the sun to kiss the center of my forehead.  My head feels cold.  I try again to uncover the windows but the air inside is stuffy and thick like smoke.  I am unable to draw in ether, a wisp of life to prevent my knees from buckling under the work.  I waver and collapse against the something red.  Surrender proves to be the action needed to bring on the shift like the tumble of the first domino. Only a sliver of light is invited to pierce the air inside.  I grab hold of it, pull it to my nose, and I breathe in.  I can see inside myself.  I watch the bronchi of my lungs turn from an inflamed green to a free flowing gold.  And I breathe out, my belly deflates.  A child is born.  A child is born.  A child is born. The gurgling whisper returns, “The age of alignment has come.”  I awake, sit up as a throne and shout with a guttural cry...

SHABAK   

  

  

Do You Remember
Back In The Spring
Every Morning Birds Would Sing
Do You Remember
Those Special Times
They'll Just Go On And On
In The Back Of My Mind
Do You Remember The Time

~Thank you, Michael