PREDIALECTION
Missive #38 - Transcribed Poetic Dictation
[Once again, I have not slept. Everything is moving. Turning. By turns, each day sends forth a hundred million impossible somethings. These are not somethings that can be so simply held, certainly not alone. And yet, here we are! In Ramadan. A time that asks us to look at Al-Ghaniyy, Al-Qayyum. Self-sufficience and self-subsistence, through daily observance. This year, I elected to participate in daytime fasting, unlike last year when I simply prayed in a structured way. Fasting during the day, every day—fasting even from water! It is my first time practicing such a fast in earnest. I almost always allow myself water or tea when abstaining from food, and I am surprised by how different the quality of a full fast is.
This missive is not the easiest to read, or listen to. Some lines were challenging to receive (in terms of followability), and even more challenging to recite properly. I have some access-glimmers to parts of it, little intimations. The rest I allow to wash over me as incantation. I can feel it moving, bubbling. And so I extend this incantation to you, in these profoundly troubling and simultaneously blissful times. Alhamdulillah.] Received 3/14/2024 | ~6-6:59am
Listen to the Recitation:
PREDIALECTION
Language is Lineage, an edict of prediction
Predicated on wounds, our wisdom found
In half cracked catalysts catapulting fragments
Into eons of eons on eons on end, peripatetic
Platitudes perched on thyrsus wands, blooming
Skies built of psychocosmic tree branches
Scraping mountaintops and plumbing underworld
Caverns of cisterns of cielestial parapets
Silvered diadems with star-crest gems, arking
Fire in iris arches, splatters and sprays sinuous
Or sinewy, sine waves since and sincere in
Ceridwen castle, shimmering in half-moon infury
Refractions and reflections broken hearted hollows
Screeching from beyond and between, the misery
Of a million dewinged beetles, vibrating in herbal
Tones, toning down and turning in to a new
Confounded query, twisting and swerving in
Service to the most merciful, most compassionate,
The all-perfect self-sustaining, self-sufficient
We yearn to, yearn towards years of years
Howling in ears that might hope to hear
Even one shred of a silent sound, wreaking
Hanover house, rollover hours, satellites racing
By and by and by a thousand thousand reveries
Humming and dashing and about the cauldron
Of poetic inspiration, cooked through and well
Done. What's done is done is done, and shall be
Done! Let what is done be done and return already
To the one, the utmost one—yes, that one, that
Perilous imperfect quintessentially flawless one
Which is who which is you that is why and how
In the tumult and rumble of a thunder's clap,
One hand booming in still sustainment, hollowed
Out of a fragile ear of corn, six sisters clasp
Hands as one, in a six-pointed sigil song, triangles
Inverted and diverted, redacted and protracted
In seamless hems and crooked plackets, curling
In and out of a straight edge fantasy, furrowed
Fallows blaring horns and guns and bomb blasts
Pounding and pounding upon the earth, resonant
Core refracting the sound, echoing its hollow
Boon to our bones, to the very root of our tragedy
Relegated to religion and hidden in despotism,
In fascistic deplore a seed becomes germ, virus
Unleashed in a field of peonies, chrysanthemums
Dropping, one after another, and again, again,
The lightning branches out, into 7 limbs, 7 high
Heavens, upper worlds down in our belowliness
The purple-gold hue of Gaia's intradimensionality
Glistening or garish, misplaced and just in time
To prepare a feast of tallow, candlewicks cast
In boiling vats of oil, saunas and hot springs,
Thermal medicinal baths prized for their sulfur
The brimstone at the rim of our atonement
Carries a new provenance, a new esteem, valued
Highly and cherished, above marble, above salt
The drawbridge comes down and the whole of hell
Is let loose upon the world, screaming and writhing
Damnation their dance, grinning horrible gain
Louder and louder, the quiet becomes loud,
And the loud, quiet. What is upside down is down
Until up, and the holy golden Grail gates open
In the agreement to not revise at the same time,
But rather in order, and without judgment, so
Judgment comes and goes, moving through
In a shallow moment, all that is lost is lost again
And in the losing shall be the newfounding, finding
What we did not lose and have not lost, the ark
Of a graceful narrative, graciously given, received
Fully, lovingly, openly, to their eyes of death and gloom
Set up on a meat hook and hung to blow in the
Wind, wrinkles coming undone, empires undone,
Undine at the edges, sirensong to the knight, to
Hurry, and hark, and hobble his way home, to her,
The one great her who holds the whole of the ocean's
Waters, cleansed and cleansing of all, holding all,
Clarifying all in their waves, in their toss and turning
Of the wheel, made of fire and spinning in the sky
Four swords swinging at cardinal points, blocking
The way back. We cannot go back. The back you
Wish for is the forward we have not yet imagined—
And fruitfully! Lay back down the tired soul of the body
Aching to be let down, letting itself be, just be,
In the dawn of the dusk of another dangerous day
Pulling and tugging and pushing in every awful
Way, wayward winsome leers and glares returned
To the belly, to the gutwomb gulches, churning
As butter churns, as cheese becomes churl and
Dogs go silent around the world, hushed hounds
Heralds of an alchemical conjunction, everything
Aligned into the oven, the crucible, the crater
And prepared as a beverage, some mystical brew
Then handed around in the dark underground shrine
From one initiate to the next, each to drink some
Undisclosed amount, yet intimately known, until
The wide bowl-like vessel makes its way all the way
Around those assembled there, back to the hands
Of the keeper, guarding these particular mysteries
For hundreds, or thousands, or millions of years
In the dark, damp, desiccated down under.
Where are we? Where have we been taken?
Where are you taking us, O wise one, O great guide?
We humbly kneel and bow our head to the cold
Stone floor, worn smooth by so many before us
Doing just as we now do: pray. Pray every day, pray
For the same, to the same, in the same, of the same,
We bend and bow and pray and rest our flat head
Upon the stone, now slightly damp, sticking
To our skin, clinging, we cling back, we are attached.
With some effort, we release, only to pray again.
What is it we pray for? We do not pray for; we pray
To. We pray towards. We pray as. We pray with.
O wise one, hear me in full! I who am not wise,
I who am not lost, I who am here now before you,
As me if I could recall or recount how you are I in
Every way save one, and yet, again not—how is it
That something so simple can intrigue us to no end,
Can entrance us in every life, in every expression,
In every moment and mounting looming mountain?
I beseech thee; I beseech me; my language keeps
The enchanted I in the enchantment of the eye,
Held and honored and hallowed in the sea turned
The eye is a wheel is a providence is a provenance
Akin to myself and anew to myself, I am alien
To my life, I live and love and live to love again
Every facet, every window, every lens is a lens into
You, your mysteries, your sparkling dark, hyper-luminous
Glens and slot canyons, winding your way once
Again, back to me. I find you; I am found by you.
Return to me; I return to you. Once more, I am here
Once more you are here, with me
Once more, you are nothing to me
And the nothing is everything
And the everything is void
And the void is becoming
Becoming and becoming, we have become
And become, we have bound ourselves again
To the present, which we must in turn
Turn away from. And in the turning shall be
The finding.
