MEMORIES OF FUTURE

Missive #74 - Transcribed Poetic Dictation with Vision Accompaniment

[The house is cracking, creaking; groaning. Heat inside, cold outside. This is what happens in such weather. Air is a good insulator. Space. Even just a couple inches between panes can help the insides stay warm. A tight seal is essential, but it doesn’t have to be perfect. Some cracks, holes — not the end of the world. At least, not here, in this context. A perfect seal may be most efficient, but is not without its negatives. Put on a few more layers if you need to. No one will mind. At least, not the ones that matter~ ] Received 2/10/25 | 12-12:27pm

Listen to the Recitation:

MEMORIES OF FUTURE
Future memories, past future
What shall be has already come to pass
The prophetic past, the prophetic perfect
"Believe that you have received them,
And they will be granted you."
What is going to happen has happened and is
Now happening.
Ezekiel was picked up by a single hair on his head
And transported from Babylon to Jerusalem
Prior to its fall in 587 BC. Isaiah too saw the wounds
That will have happened, before they happened.
"The former things are passed away."
"And he said unto me, It is done."
"And the building of the wall of it was of jasper:
and the city was pure gold, like unto clear glass."
And so it was, that it will be — written in the Book of Life
The pupil expands, the iris betrays valleys of life
We encroach upon the domain of our doing
Seven diatribes before an unfazed crowd, unblinking
Their reality unrelenting, without pause
As the turrets bend and flags fall down, shattering
As fragile rock, sheer force in a pinprick
Pointed dedicatedly into fracturelines, points
Where frames come together, webbing out
Countless dimensions, not fractals but emanations
And weakest where they come together, strongest
At a distance, in the wide reflectionless clarity
As the clear cannot mirror until angled in light, refracting
The image into itself, crashing apart, falling prey
To a fox hole, abandoned by time
The crisp brown leaves brush away to show a face
Worn stone, veined marble and black granite
The eyes seemingly empty, or sad, no vacancy
You must keep on down the road, a ways further
To the open room — a palisade of parallels
From one bright colored room into the next
Led by gentle minotaur with softly rounded nails
Horns ornamented with jewels and gold, the monster
Is not a menace, is a hierophant — showing
The way down a long dark corridor, winding
But without turns. Yet requiring a guide
For without their sure footing, one would falter
And stumble, and lose track of forward, backward
Up and down, out and in. All dissolves in
The solution available. Stirr again the contents
Until well mixed, until something solid surfaces
Then sinks back down. A cube or cluster
Hard, but softening
The ceilings crack and collapse and the sky breaks
Open — we are opened
Until the sky forms and shapes upon us,
Contained again, her eyes close
And a small scent lights about her skin, sounding
Like a stampeding herd, of elk, of elephants
All around her they rushed; she stood firm, unshaking
And eyes unmoving, not slow, not rapid
And when she opened them, she saw the full weight
Of silence. Every animal had stopped and turned
To face her, eyes unblinking, bodies almost motionless
Save for slow residences of breath, an exodus
She bowed her head, and bent down to the ground
And felt the breath through the soil
Gently moving into her, she raised
And saw the herds turned away from her, as statues
And her the center: she looks up
To the pole star, which has moved
North has uncoupled; the magnetic field has turned
And the head is now the sternum, soliloquent
With multicolored ribbons invisible above her
It is as if a celebration were occurring in the heavens
And on earth, though not in any particularly discernible
Way — the sight of faith reveals it
Where magma creeps up in golden fissures of earth
Joining dissident planes, each a symphony
To a single mother continent, a motherly core
Heating and pulsing, the yolk of the earth, the yolk
Of the heavens; the heavens and the earth are one
The burning lake, the heavens, and the earth are
One. The animals as one, take one step
And vanish. The land is swept up, and her with it
A swirl of vortex: the Vertex. Through~in to the other
Place, which looks much the same as before
As what will come, is what has already passed
And what will be, is already
And currently occurring. Put your fingers two knuckles
Deep in the dirt. Hold them there —

Feel the fullness of what is here al(l)ready.

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The outer panels of the closed Wilton Diptych (c. 1395–1399)

The Vertex