ILLUMINATION IS INCINERATION
Missive #40 - Transcribed Poetic Dictation with Vision Accompaniment
[I return from a couple of golden days on the front edge of an unknown storm. I am glowing! Beaming. On the road at night, our eyes regularly incinerated by the mindless headlights coming at us, often high-beamed. Everything is fast approaching, fast coming to a close, to a head. We can only barely hold on, and only when lucky! Brown-green hues and tones push up from the moist brown-green earth, inconvenient and incessant, insistent. I am on the threshold of so many huge life updates. This is a richly potent time of horrific awesome awful ekstasis, unspeakable and untold. We are living it raw, remembering each day to love, to love, to choose to love. We choose love! In all its many forms, always laying me bare, face down on the surface of the muddy moist soil ground. Kissing the earth, again. Like a prayer, a devotional hymn, articulated lips, quivering, shaking, paralyzed restless. The brightest light always blinds. I am blinded over and over again. I continue to open my eyes; to receive again, lovingly, the burning light~ ] Received 4/2/2024 | 9:35-9:58pm
Listen to the Recitation:
ILLUMINATION IS INCINERATION
Blindingly bright,
If it's not incinerating, it's not illuminating
Mercury meets sulfur in cinnabar, vermillion;
When the sulfur is in its finest most refined
Expression, gold results from the fateful
Encounter. Diamonds and peridot lay in the rich
Volcanic spew of Earth's pressure release, olivine
Fruit trees grow, roots sparkling with the carbon
Bonds which cannot be scratched, but can be
Obliterated—a small impact on the smallest fracture
To oblivion leads, to dust, to speckled devastation
The loss of all sense of value and worth, the lowening
Of the artificially high, a needed iconoclasm
In the temple of money lending, a sleeve cut
To avoid disturbing the sleeping prince. Cut
A peach and share a slice, of the stickening sweet
Salamanders singing and black toades culling
The mud, the rich black brown mud which feeds
All life, sprouting from its nutrient density, caloric
Inimity, that which is most disgusting to the clean
Who have yet to be truly lowered, into the boiling
Lava floes, bright white red, the color pair of initiation
In spring, woven together in cords, dressed in dolls,
Effigies strung up, blinking Christmas lights in
Green and blue and purple, fallen spruce upon
A crushed garden. The elder labors and toils
To uncover the delicate ecosystem beneath,
Which cannot be crushed in reality, simply folded
Up in a chariot drawn and quartered under God's
Careful watch, humbling orchestration, which brings
The brightest most searing light to calcify blood
And incinerate perception, blasted with pure
Personality, supraessential; listen to the voice which
Speaks through the mask, amplified thereby,
And framed, framing all essence resulting, whether
Toxic red crystal or precious honey gold, glowing
Warm embrace pushing all untrusting endeavors
And jester trials to their limiting hedge believings.
Remember to relieve yourself, do not unnecessarily
Burden your bladder. Do not form stones of thrones,
Thorned branches wiring round tepid tumults,
Sacred drama is a staged revolt, undermining
Those of frail faith, squashed beneath a thousand
Oaken branches, seers whispering in wrens' ears
The ancient language of trees, rods and twigs
Galavanting in noble rot, sickly ill-umination,
Ruminating on ends and means and knowhow knots
Without once untying, letting loose the taut
Flag of one's principles, disturb the slumbering
Prince, barely barren and empty wombed, the
Green dragon prays and prances in the pony's pen
For the castigation of humanity, fast underway,
A handfasting with one's own sense of immature peril
A Sphinx's lot, waylaid on the leylines between
Mecca and Giza and Avalonia, tens of thousands
Of intricately laid gridstones in Brittany, weathered
Down to dried out nubs, yet dormant, yet volcanic
In their waiting, in their readying to burst forth
A thousand thousand ruby red firework flames
To catch light aflame the whole disordered paradox
World, worldly veils torn asunder, temple vestments
Laid atop a Philosopher's sulphur, spitting
Acid breath, acidified water on every sage-in-waiting,
To be humbled is a perfect undertaking, intricately
Balanced with personal inspirations and expirations
Food stores emptied, laid to waste, given up
To become nothing, to become rotten, to become
A paltry fool's sum of wages, beggared bounty
Unbound up in the precipice, holy mountain's inner
Hollows filled with unknown fantasies, yet unlived,
Yet unimagined, fuel for the coming incineration
Which shall illuminate the very worst among us
Into the very best among us, humbled
And lowly and, for the first time,
Forged fully into a personality their own.
