[Whewf. I am a bit sick, stuffy and unable to lie down or rest properly this nightmorning. Several missives came through in the days leading up to now and they were so awful (see: violent, bloody, kill-heavy) I had to stop transcribing them. Intriguingly, these were the first times I told the poetic dictator ‘No’—and, lo, the dictations stopped! A little more sense of choice, of decision came in that wake. One of the halted missives was about ‘decimation’, in great detail, going back to pre-imperial Rome. Decimatio is not enjoyable to sit with, and I usually have a pretty high tolerance for such things. The Theban Legion and St. Maurice, as well as many others; beheaded or clubbed by their kin, chosen at random. Humans are capable of such a range of creative atrocity. We hold all of this—seemingly shown at such high rates of late—and root deeply into the question of destiny. How is this a part of our destiny, a part of our story? How can we orient ourselves in this context and shift-evolve the tone of the story, to redirect the content?
This missive came through beautifully and elegantly, in the afterglow of the series of halted dictations. How much gruesomeness am I as the caretaker of these words to pass onto you? I would hope to pass along only that amount which is absolutely necessary, and not an ounce more. This is my prayer. That we might all pass through a little less of that, and a little more of love, of humor, of vision for what may yet be~] Received 2/8/2024 | 3:44am
Listen to the Recitation:
DESTINIA
Your destiny is not your fate
Fate happens to you; Destiny is what you do
The decisions you make, the outlook you take
It is your mission, your destin+ation,
Not the obstacles in the way, we speak
Destiny calls; it is the feeling of answering
Of standing up to sit back down, to wait
Patiently as the quest is offered, articulated
Limbs growing, reaching into and down
Among the millions of unfruiting websystems
Splaying in everywhichway to transmit electric
Codes between rootlimbs extended out of reach
The valley's gulch too wide to cross, too far
To leap, we leap and race down, to a draft
Warm wind uplifting wings of wax, yet to melt
Towards a cold blue sun, safeguarded from heat
The spirit moves us into position to soar
Across the uncrossable vast
To the other side, the far cliff horizon, sheer
As a veil, billowing gently, gathered then loose
Hanging flat, transparent, a little wisp
Of fragrance, memory's sin, enveloped
And sealed, sent away, to a distant mailbox
A small charm or blessing, a card to call
Upon an old friend, smiling, warmly, at home
Slicing open, to cry or moisten a path of skin
Race courses of slow inching snails, unbothered
As time cheers from the sidelines, in tens of
Millions of faces, of voices, shrill and sweet, stern
And stupendous. I clutch my chest, suddenly fire
Flaring hot, tight with awkward burps, as the
Cauldron cooks up a storm, unpleasant and
Uncomfortable, sleepless in the stillness, born
Again and again in every passing moment, every
Moment passed us by in the carousel of calumny
Derided and beside ourselves, every planned
Speech is stunted, awkwardly paused inhales
Between words, stilted and jilted, as fate clashes
Dragging down the wings of chilled wax
Now crumbling, disintegrating complexes and
Careening catastrophes kept at hypnagogy bay
But not for long. Courage. Take courage! With
Heart, with heart; stand tall in your heart, heavy
As a Calydonian boar, ten mountain tonnes
And delirious, driving out in front of every howling
Hooligan dancing down the devil's house, shaking
Feet and hands unloosed, released to be
A scar setting galavant, a peril on the breeze
A star falling festival, fabricating all else otherwise
And every so often unincorrigible, unintegratable
Frames and villains, antagonists who must be
Surmounted, climbed up onto and over which
Way must be divined through dastardly means
And clever entreatises, written but for a paltry
Page's scrambling after their errant knight, laughing
In the distance, horse awkwardly clopping along
On a cobblestone block or two, down and forward
The street bends and breaks again, under wave
And buckle, the angels descend in furies' wake
And swing their wheelswords with abandon
And castigate the castratis for singing so well
To blush, or embarrass, the heavenly chorus
Who cannot be castrated, and cannot choose
Which way to descend or when.
There is only one judge in the great tapestry
And who am I to judge?
We slay, and slaughter, and martyr, and decimate
And medicate, and marinate, and defile our
Daughters through distrust and betrayal, children
Curse their parents and grandparents, lament
The path before them, which they must walk
For it is our path, and we must walk it.
The choice is always ours, and we get it
So get to it! I say to myself
In-between lulls and murmurs,
Purple whispers behind curving corridors
Ghosts behind every panel, cheering
Leering as we pass by, giants we must seem
Blood pumping pulsing pouring
Out of every opening, into every closing
Of every circle predefined and predestined
To bare it all before us, and for us,
So that we might see all there is to see
And decide in that space—truly decide—
The full weight and sway of our destiny's bride.
The marriage of the sun and the moon
Yields nothing less than the philosopher's stone
Honed and cut, a thousand facets, each
Reflecting a thousand different ways
The original sourcelight shining behind every mirror.